The Other Side of the Games
by BananaPieThiefX
Summary: Have you ever wanted to be on the other side of the Games? Sponsor a tribute, see inside their heads, watch as they struggle for survival. Will your tribute pick make it to the end? Or will they suffer defeat at the hands of another? Opening Ceremony!
1. District One Reaping Silk and Argent

Okay, to explain. I'm jumping on the bandwagon of interactive stories. I made up the characters, but you have the opportunity to sponsor them, and possibly affect who will win the Games! Choose wisely, because sponsors of the winning tribute will get a complimentary virtual muffin basket! (And possibly a mention in the final chapter/Epilogue) Enjoy, but not too much, you sadists, you.

And if the names/personalities look familiar, I am using some of the characters I submitted to other stories.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Games. The Capitol does. How heartless do I look?

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**Silk Lauters- 17, District One**

District One is the best. That's why we're District _One_. As in, number one. Winners. If I didn't live in district One, I might just die. Especially if I had to go in the Hunger Games. See, here, in district One, we train. It's part of what makes us the best. In 57 years of the Hunger Games, District One has had almost 20 victors, 18 if you want to be specific. I think we all know what that means. It means that this year, Our District will have its 19th victor. I, Silk Lauters, will wear the crown this year. I have trained for seven years for the moment that I will volunteer to take the Games by storm. My parents told me not to volunteer, but they don't understand the glory of the Games. They don't understand that the District's reputation must be upheld. And who better to do that than me? After all, I'm the most popular girl at the training center. I'm the best with arrows, and I can wrestle all the fifteen year olds to the ground without breaking a nail. I'm obviously the best pick.

These thoughts in mind, I'm eager to get out of bed. The digital clock on my bedside table tells me it's only 6:15, but I absolutely can't wait to get ready. I decide to go ahead and pick out my outfit. Though the Reaping won't start until 9:30, I need as much time as possible to look perfect for my big day. I swing my feet over the side on the bed, and make contact with the thick white carpet. A flip of a switch and my room is flooded with light that dances off the golden walls. I throw open my closet door. So many choices, and only a few hours to get it all straight and get down to the Square. I pull out dozens of combinations, before settling on just the right one. It's a gorgeous blue dress with sparkles that comes down just below my knees. To complete the outfit, I add an almost transparent silver shrug. I step back and admire myself in the mirror. I add silver flats. Yes, _perfect_. I allow myself a smile. Next is my hair. I pile the black mass into a perfect silky bun on top of my head, and add a clip with a beautiful blue gem. It's an heirloom from my grandmother. It will be my token in the arena. I apply makeup next. I outline my dark eyes with silver eyeliner for an added sparkle. I'm finally ready. But it's still only 8:00.

I go downstairs, where Mom gives me a once-over with her eyes. She smiles weakly at me and heaps eggs and French toast on my plate. I eat about half, and then watch Hunger Games re-caps. They're showing the 50th Games now. That stupid Abernathy won. The boy was from the _coal_ district for goodness sakes! He should have died at the beginning. He would have, if not for the poison-girl. Then Rainbow definitely would have won. Oh well. I hit the button and turn the TV off. It was time to go.

In the square, I see plenty of people I know. After joining the other seventeen, I wink at Agate Sandors, the cutest boy in the world, who also happens to be my boyfriend. Of course he is. it's not like he has many other choices. He smiles back. He's the only one who knows I'm going into the games today. He's proud of me, I can tell. He knows I'm going to win the Hunger Games, and when I do, we're going to live together in the Victor's village. I've already picked out a house. It's two stories, of course, pale blue, with white lacy molding on the outside, and a window that sticks out from the house, giving it personality. Agate likes it too. I've already showed it to him, the same day I told him i was volunteering.

_"Come on, Agate!"_

_"I'm coming, Silky, wait up." I slow my pace a bit, knowing that my training has made me faster than him. He catches up, and we stand outside the house. I point out every detail. Every regular grain of wood in the building. I have to win. I have to be a Victor. Because if I can't win, there's no other life. I tell Agate this, and he doesn't answer. He's a man of few words. _

_"That's why it's a fight to the death, Agate. If you don't win, there's no glory in living anymore. If you don't win, you might as well be dead," I say passionately. I believe it too. Those who can't win aren't worthy of living. Some who won weren't either, but that was beside the point. Agate looks at me seriously for a moment, then he smiles. He pulls me down on the grass, and we lie there for some time. Later, he kisses me. He begs me to win._

_"I can't wait to live there with you, Silk."_

Agate turns, and I follow suit, paying attention to the others around me. People are wildly discussing who will be chosen, and whether there will be volunteers. I join in, and chatter excitedly with Violette and Weiss, my two best girl friends, but I keep my mind on the prize. I can't miss my opportunity. I make sure to look confident. If they show shots of the crowd later, and I'm recognized, I want to make sure I give my sponsors no doubt about my ability to win. We talk about boys, about how Weiss spent _four hours_ picking out the perfect dress this morning. I mention the ridiculous workload given to us at school for the weekend, but keep silent about my plans to participate in the Games this year. The mayor is running late. It's five minutes past time.

Eventually, the mayor finds his way to the stage. He clears his throat and makes some speech about the Capitol, same as usual. One of the elevens from school reads aloud the Treaty of Treason. Then, _finally_, the agonizing wait is over. The moment I was born for is here. Seventeen years of waiting, all leading up to now. I know I could still back out, take the safe road, but there's no chance of that. I'm not a quitter.

"Ladies first!" calls out the escort. Our escort is male, one of the only ones. His name is Fillswick, or Fintwick or something. He grabs the first slip he makes contact with.

"Kirsten Reade!" _Kristen?? What kind of name is _that, I think. _Not exciting at all._ Not that it matters. Jut like her name, she will be seen next to me as dull and forgettable. Some tall, rough-looking kid from the fourteens makes her way to the stage, looking indifferent. I think she's one of the few poorer kids in the District. I'm glad I'm volunteering for her. Someone who doesn't care doesn't deserve the crown. And she obviously doesn't care. "Are there any volunteers?"

"I volunteer as the female tribute from District One!" I announce. Violette gives a happy squeal, and Weiss gasps in delight and surprise. I smile and take the stage, shooing away the glowering fourteen with a wave of my manicured hand. I barely hear the boy's name called. Agent Meller, I think it was. I'm too busy basking in my glory. Some scrawny little redhead comes up next to me. I want to laugh at him. He's at least a foot shorter than I am! How old is he, ten? He doesn't care either. He just stands there, looking harshly over the assembled crowd. He won't last long. We shake hands, with as little contact as possible, and face the audience. I can't wait to get started.

Before we go though, we have to have visitors. Scrawny doesn't get very many, I don't think. My Mom and Dad come, of course, and sob over me. They don't even think I can make it past the first day, let alone win. I roll my eyes as they leave. Next are Violette and Weiss. They wish me luck and hug me. Last is Agate. He says nothing. He just kisses me and runs his hands through my hair for fifteen blissful minutes until he has to leave. I don't say goodbye to any of them. I don't need too. Why say goodbye when I'm coming back?

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**Argent Melanger- 15, District One**

I hate living in District One. Sure, we're the richest district and all, but I'd be so much more impressive if I came from one of the other high-end districts, Two or Four. See, I want to win the Hunger Games, but I want to make an impression when I do. And coming from the District with the most victors, winning will be nothing special at all. They train like us, but they almost never win. Not like district One, with our 18 victors. And on top of all that, we have to get up earliest of all the Districts. If we miss the 9:30 reaping... well, I don't know the exact consequences, but the can't be good. At 9:00, I roll out of bed and throw on a black long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and black sneakers. No need to look particularly nice. I won't be going into the games until I'm 18. The last thing I add is my silver ring with the huge emerald. The one that was a gift from my Dad for starting my training.

Training is my life. And I'm good at it. In fact, I'm kind of the best. Not because I'm good, really, but because no one else is. It's a combination of the two. But if I'm the best now, I can hardly imagine how great I'll be at age 18. I've been training since I was seven, and it's the hard work that has gotten me down the long road to the top of my class in the Training Center. People laugh when they see my average frame and 4'10 height. They're not laughing when they're pinned on the ground, my hands on their neck. My size is an advantage, not a weakness. And that average frame is pure muscle. I can wrestle and fight some people bigger than me, but I love spears most. They're heavy, but effective. And I'm pretty good with them. I realize that I've been scanning my appearance in the mirror as I think. My red hair is combed straight over my eyes. That's good. It hides the fact that they're too wide apart. I smile condescendingly into the mirror. My reflection mocks me in return.

"ARGENT!!" the shout echoes through the house.

Oh crap. Oh _crap_! The hidden green eyes staring out at me from the mirror widen in realization as they catch sight of the backwards clock. 9:21. nine minutes. Platine, my older sister, who for some reason lives at home even though she just turned 20, is the one calling me. I dash across the house and grab a slice of bread. I spread it quickly with some kind of jelly and run out of the house, leaving the jelly jar and the rest of the loaf on the table. My parents have already left, and Platine is coming behind, at her perfect pace. It matches her perfect _everything._ Platine was never late for the Reaping when she was eligible, and I know I'm going to get hell from it out of my parents afterward, just like every year. She doesn't have to be perfectly on time, though. She can slip in the back unnoticed, now that she's an adult. I'm glad my Dad is already gone. All he'd do is try to get me to volunteer this year, claim it would make me more disciplined.

I reach the Square just as the Mayor begins his speech. Hah! The Mayor was late too! That makes me feel a bit better. I slip in the back, jostling a few Twelves to get near the center of the crowd. I don't dare to move into the fifteens and attract more attention. Besides, I fit in here, visually. I feign paying attention, and wonder if my friends are looking for me. Probably not. They know I'll have been late and tried to hide out in the back. I do that every year. Oz says I'll get caught eventually. he says sooner or later they'll notice that one Twelve always stays Twelve and always shows up late. I'm sure he's wrong. Finnwick, our escort, wishes us a "Happy Hunger Games" and grabs a name from the girls' ball. Ladies first, of course.

"Kristen Reade" Hmm, I don't know her, and I don't see her until she's on the stage. She's tall. She looks strong, and she doesn't even seem to notice the crowd. I can't see much more, being in the back as I am. It doesn't matter though, because a girl from Training who thinks she's all that comes up to the stage. I hate her. She's smug and arrogant and thinks she can do anything. She's got talent with a bow, I'll admit, but just the other day, a Thirteen beat her in hand-to-hand. Admittedly, that same boy was six feet tall and bulging abnormally with muscles, but still. She introduces herself as Silk Lauters and smiles dementedly at the crowd, like she's trying to split her face open.

_We get it, all right? You _want_ to be in the Games. You gave that away when you volunteered. I pity whatever poor sucker has a mad person like you as a District partner. I hope they get loads of sponsors. _

Finnwick moves to the boys' ball. I hear my name called. There is no hesitation on my part, just a slight stab of self-pity for having to work with Silk. I push through the Twelves, Thirteens and Fourteens. I nudge my cousin and best friend, Oz, as I go through the Fifteens. I grin at a few girls in the Sixteens and Seventeens, who subtly recoil from me. _Ah well. When you win, they'll come around. And looking twelve doesn't exactly help your case._

Eventually, I struggle out of the mass of kids and ascend the stage. I move to my place next to Silk, and look out, challenging the would-be volunteers. I hope they have the sense to stay put. Nobody volunteers for me, and I'm glad. I'm excited about going into the games three years early. I can feel my heart pounding in excitement as I turn away from the crowd. I shake hands with a very detached Silk, and I have no trouble looking fierce and indifferent to my "fate". I survey the people in the District One Square. The same as every year, they looked upon the tributes with respect. Wait, not me. I see them eyeing me with distaste, taking in only my size. _Just you wait_, I think.

I only get a few visitors. Platine tells me I better win. Mom and Dad don't show, unsurprisingly. Oz comes in later, and we talk, mostly about memories of our childhood. Oz is the only real friend I have. I have loads of friends of course, being me, but outside of Oz, I never felt any kind of loyalty to any of them. He hugs me, and tells me he'll see me soon. I flash him a smile, and he leaves. I entered the visiting room, and the next victor of the Hunger Games emerged. I was ready to go. Silk seemed ready too, confident. That could be a problem. For her. I hope she's the last one left. The disgrace of killing your District Partner would be nothing compared to the satisfaction I would feel at foiling her confidence. We're shown to the train, and I flop over on my bed, staring at the ornate ceiling.

"Look out Panem," I murmur to myself. "Here comes Argent Melanger. I hope you're ready for him."

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**So, like them, hate them, want to sponsor them?? Let me know!**


	2. District Two Reaping Artemis and Apollo

Firstly, I must apologize to Wish I Had An Account, who complimented my not 'gorgeous but pure evil' Careers. I did make them, they're just in _this _chapter. On second thought, maybe not pure evil. Well, you have to see, don't you?

Secondly, I wish to thank everyone who read and reviewed. Now, mostly without further stalling for time, I present the Reaping!

**Disclaimer: **I still own nothing. But I will own the fatigue I'll have tomorrow. Happy 2:30 AM everyone! -fireworks-

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**Artemis Hammel- 18, District Two**

I get out of bed, and I feel like I've barely slept at all. Mostly because, I haven't. I've been too busy planning my strategy for today. I can't just _volunteer_ after all. The Reaping is not just selection, but the beginning of the Games. And if I don't volunteer perfectly, it could affect my winning. I have to look the part. I know I'm not particularly pretty. I'm taller than most boys, and stocky and muscular from training every day. My hair is blonde, but it frizzes out in all the wrong places. I spent at least two hours last night straightening it. Now, I attack it again with the flat iron, seeking perfection. It's not as bad as it could be, but sleeping still took a heavy toll.

Once that's done, I treat myself to some breakfast. I eat now to avoid Apollo, my brother. I have pancakes, with real butter and syrup, courtesy of a life in District 2. I pour a glass of real orange juice to go with it. I eat leisurely, though I know even this nice food will be like tesserae grain compared to what I will taste in the coming week. When my breakfast is finished, I go back toward my room, just in time to catch Apollo on the stairs. _Damn!_ I think.

"Move it," I growl at my twin. He thinks he's so great, Apollo, just because all the girls fawn over him. He looks like a god too, with his short, perfectly straight blonde hair and his deep green eyes. He has all the same features as I do, but they assemble on his face perfectly, while they look out of place on mine.

Instead of obliging me, he blocks the entire stairway. Standing there grinning at me. His perfectly shaped chest muscles tease me, begging me to prove myself against him. "I cannot _wait_ to get in the arena with you, Artie."

I glare at him when he uses that name for me, and I snap. In an instant, I grab his throat and press him against the railing. "I'm counting the minutes," I respond. Apollo the hotshot is volunteering with me. Only one of us can return. Good. I'm better off without someone like him in my life.

"Then how many are left, Artie dear?" he chokes out. His eyes twinkle with merriment as he says this. A deep, primal noise rises from my throat, and Apollo takes a backwards dive over the stair railing. To my dissatisfaction, he's laughing when he rises from the floor. Damn carpet. I told Mom we should have had wood put in. Attractive and effective. Plus, it would be easy to get his blood off. I turn on my heel and march up the stairs. It takes less than ten minutes to change into the outfit I laid out last night, a green dress with glittery sequins, and put the finishing touches on my hair and makeup. I almost look beautiful. I sit in my room, listening. In time, I hear Apollo's door slam. I take this opportunity to dash down the stairs and out the door. My parents will catch up later.

Once I've turned the corner from my house, I slow down to a casual walk. I don't want to seem too urgent. Truth is, I can't wait to get into the arena. To kill. I want the feeling of power I have in Training, the power I had over Apollo this morning. It was no mistake that I was named Artemis. I am a huntress, a warrior, waiting for the kill. But unlike Artemis, I'm hunting people, not animals. And my weapon of choice happens to be a battleaxe. But whatever. Everyone hunts differently. Unless they're too weak to hunt, of course.

I stand with the eighteens, but still utterly alone. I don't need friends. Attachment leads in disappointment and weakness. Another way I am like Artemis. She pledged never to marry, and I don't believe I ever will. I can't imagine actually loving someone enough to be stuck with them for the rest of my life. I won't allow myself to get that close to anyone. They'd either die, deceive me, or leave me. That's just the way life works. Love makes you weak. And I won't be weak.

The square is full now. Our Mayor comes up to the podium at exactly 10:00 and begins to speak. I listen. I'm glad we lost the rebellion. It put the weak people in their place, and allows me the opportunity to prove myself now. I don't like to think where I'd be without a reason to fight; to kill.

Our escort, Kyline Myst, smiles down at all of us. "Happy Hunger Games!" she twitters, "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" She goes to the girls' ball first, as usual. I pray that my name won't be called. I'll look a lot better volunteering than I will if chosen. Volunteering will show that I want this. That I'm ready, and that I'm going to enjoy it.

"Lindy Bane?" she says, scanning the assembled teens. The girl next to me starts forward, a ghost of a smile on her face. My hand finds her shoulder, and our eyes meet. I give one small shake of my head, and her eyes widen in surprise. I smile at her, and push her aside, harder than I meant to. She hit the ground, but I think she's okay. Not that it matters too much, but it could turn away some sponsors. I don't have to move through the crowd, it parts for me. I climb to the stage and walk straight to the microphone.

"My name is Artemis Hammel, and I'll be volunteering as the female tribute of District Two." I nod to the escort and step back from the microphone. Some kid is called, but Apollo obeys the rules of convention and waits until he's on the stage before coming forward to take his place. He does quite a bit of showboating, as usual. I glare at him, and refuse to shake his hand. Instead, we curtly nod at each other before facing the audience. They go wild. Twins in the Games? And volunteers at that? It's never happened before. The Capitol is going to eat this up. I don't smile though. I keep my expression indifferent.

We leave the stage, and I refuse visitors. Apollo sees only his girlfriend, and then we are off on the train. I can feel the adrenaline rushing through me. It's my time. I can kill, and I will win. I hope Apollo and I are the last two left.

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**Apollo Hammel- 18, District Two**

I love the Hunger Games, but not even the Reaping can get me out of bed before nine. The first thing I do after a good night's sleep is head down for breakfast. I don't even throw a shirt on, I just roll out of bed and leave the room, still blinking dreams away. Just as I'm going down, Artemis is coming upstairs. Ah, my little sister. I could get used to being an only child, after I crush little Artie in the Games this year.

"Move it!" My twin sister thinks she can boss me around. Cute.

"I cannot _wait_ to get in the arena with you, Artie," I say, smiling and blocking her path up the stairs. I regret letting my guard down, because in a second, Artemis has got me pinned by my throat against the railing. I could fight back, but what's the use? She can't hurt me. This is all just an awkward inconvenience.

"I'm counting the minutes," she growls back. Anger, sweet, sweet, anger. I'll bet she's glad we're going into the Games together. I am too, for the same reason. No matter what the outcome, we will _never_ have to deal with each other again. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from me just thinking about it.

"Then how many are left, Artie dear?" I taunt, using the nickname she hates. Again, I've let my guard down. I don't remember falling, just the feel of my bare back hitting the carpet. The breath is knocked out of me, but it doesn't hurt. In fact, I hardly notice it. I look up at Artie, her angry glare following me down the stairs. And I laugh at her, I can't help it. She turns in disgust and leaves me on the ground, shaking with laughter. And while I won a shallow victory here, allowing myself to be thrown like that in the Games could be the death of me. I'll have to be more careful.

My breakfast is simple, just some toast and butter. I can't really cook, and Mom and Dad are getting ready. Besides, it will make the joyous occasion of my first Capitol meal all the better. After eating, I go back to my luxurious room to dress. If it was up to me, I'd go like this. Actually, it might make a nice impression on some of my female sponsors if I _did_. Oh well, best play it safe. I throw on brown pants and a shirt the color of red wine that opens down my chest. The better I look, the easier I'll win. I still have a few minutes, so I flip on the TV, hoping to catch the tail end of District One. I do, and I see a classic District One volunteer for the girl, whose smile threatens to split her skull. She'll make a decent ally, I suppose. The boy though, comes from the _Twelves_. Nobody volunteers, surprisingly. The kid is scrawny, but he looks like a fighter. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he carries himself. It's time to go now, so I leave for the Square. Mom, Dad, and Artemis are nowhere to be found. I guess they left already.

When I reach the Square, I don't see Manda. No matter, she'll see me after the Reaping. Our Mayor makes the same speech as always, going on and on about how great the Capitol is. Yeah, ok, whatever. They're great, fine. _Just get to the Reaping already! I want to go in already._ But it drags on, further and further.

Finally our escort, Kyline, I think, steps up. She gives us her best wishes for a Happy Hunger Games, and I know it will be. How can it not? She pulls some girl's name, but the kid never makes it to the stage. In front of me, I see Artie push her over and walk to the stage. She takes over the microphone and introduces herself. I hate that she's stolen any chance I had of making an impression, but can't help but smile at her nerve. Now for the boys. I hope they don't call my name. That would completely ruin my plan. I _have _to volunteer. It will make me look stronger.

"Beart Calder?" I jump up. Thank goodness it's not me. I watch the chubby, glasses-clad Fifteen struggle to the stage, doing a remarkably good job of not crying. They ask for volunteers, and I stroll out casually, offering myself up as a tribute. I love this. The attention, the fame, the power. I live for it.

"And you are?" asks the escort. I swear, if she doesn't see the resemblance, she's blind. We have the exact same features, Artemis and I. They just look better on me.

I keep the fake smile plastered on my face when I answer, "I'm Apollo Hammel."

"Hammel? Any chance of your relation to this fine lady?" she asks, looking about ready to burst. They've never had twin volunteers in the Games before, and only one set of twins besides. Tragic pair, from district… 7, I think. They were both destroyed in the bloodbath, at age thirteen. They were forgettable. Though if one had actually survived the first day and not the other, the entertainment would have been great. Pity.

"That's my twin sister," I say into the microphone. And I can't resist adding the next part. "I can't have her taking all the glory when it's my last year to win!" I smile winningly, though I wish I were doing anything but. Artemis' glare makes it easier to smile though. _Thanks, sis. I owe you one. _I give a little wave to the delighted crowd. I listen to them clap, and it fills me with anticipation.

We're escorted off the stage to take visitors. Unsurprisingly, Mom and Dad don't show. Artemis refuses visitors at all, not that she'd have any. Of course, I only have Manda. I already told my one or two friends goodbye. They don't need or want to come. Manda and I talk for a while.

"Why did you do this?" she asks, unexpectedly.

"Because I can win. I want to win." I don't tell her about the surge of joy, the rush of energy knowing I have the power over another life. Knowing I have control. She doesn't need to know that I'm a psychopath.

"I know, but, but," she takes a moment, and composes herself. "Just come back to me, Apollo. Come back to me. I'd prefer alive if you can manage, but if not…" She hugs me, and I hug her back. "If not, just send me a sign, Apollo." I promise her I will. We kiss, and she's gone.

I see Artemis still has that lovely glare stuck on her face. She's getting to be even more of a pain than usual I know I will have to ally with her in the Games, but I don't have to be happy about it. One thing I can look forward to in her survival is the end of the Games. Because I hope Artemis and I are the last two left.

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**Super sibling rivalry much??? Feel free to tell me how much this amuses/disgusts you. I'm hoping to get to District 3 (my favorites) tomorrow, so I'm sorry if One and Two seemed a bit rushed. :)**


	3. District Three Reaping Micra and Shale

Yes, this chapter is excruciatingly long. District 3 is my favorite (and I will try not to let this affect the outcome of the story. I like a tragic death as much as the next writer). It is also a bit cliché. It's supposed to be. But, I hope you guys enjoy anyway.

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**Micra Platel- 15, District 3**

When I wake up, it's to a light tapping on my window. _What?_ I think. I blink sleepily and roll out of bed. Curiously. I pull back the curtain, only to be disappointed. All I get for my trouble is a shaft of sunlight in my eyes and the screech of a surprised bird. Okay, so maybe I was expecting… someone else at my window. But that was just my dreams carried over from the night before. I feel rested though, which is unusual for me. A lot of the time, I'm up late, messing with whatever on the computer. Being the technology district, we have electricity 24/7, and the highest quality gadgets n our homes. Pity a TV can't be eaten. I've been living off a combination of stale baker's bread and tesserae my whole life, and our family's middle class. I have a strange feeling in my stomach, but I don't know why. What reason do I have to dread a Saturday?

I sit back on my bed and open my laptop, which rarely leaves my side. Hopefully the dread feeling will go away with time. The clock on the screen tells me it's just past nine, which is about when I usually get up. I immediately log on to the Hunger Games: Online. I _hate _the Hunger Games, but this is one of the only online game we're allowed to play. Funnily enough, everyone plays this Game who can afford a computer, from District 12, with two players, to the Capitol, with thousands. I see that Shale's on. I smile. What better way to spend my Saturday than gaming with my best friend over the internet.

_**Hey**__, _I type. _**How're you?**_

_**Good**_, he says,_**all things considered. And you?**_

All things considered? What does he mean by that? Shale usually has a pretty easy life. _**What things considered? I'm fine too, I just feel kind of… Idk, superstitious or something. Like something awful's going to happen today. Crazy, right?**_I get some satisfaction from taking down a Capitol player in the game with a thrown dagger. I move left to dodge his friend's retaliation. Meanwhile, the first boy has resurrected himself. I hate the Capitol. Shale's reply is flashing at the bottom of my screen now.

_**Of course you feel that way, Micra. It's Reaping day. Probably some little Twelve will be chosen. That's what happened last time you felt sick on Reaping day. **_

"REAPING DAY!?" I hear myself shout. _How _could I forget that? I know it will be someone I know chosen today. I don't know how, but I can feel it.

_The Reaping, of course! I completely forgot! _ Preoccupied with this, my avatar is speared by some girl playing from District 10, using the name DeaOrDie. Appropriate, perhaps. 'Game Over' flashes in blue on the screen, and my character becomes a ghost. I shiver unexpectedly, seeing my character dead.

_**I gtg**__, _Shale has said, _**Breakfast, then the Reaping. See you there, I guess.**_ Aggravated with myself for forgetting the Reaping, I slam the power off button. Heading across the house, I sit down to breakfast. I didn't need tesserae this year, and we actually have nice bread and cheese for breakfast, and some glazed ham to go with it. I dig in, eating as much as I can. Don't know when we're going to have food this good again. Mom, Dad and my sister Luca join me in time. Luca is already ready. She's dressed up in my reaping outfit from two years ago, even though she's only eleven, and not yet eligible for the Reaping. At eleven, she's already as big as I was at thirteen. Bigger really, because I remember that awful dress hanging off of me like a sheet, but it fits my sister perfectly.

"Mooo-oom!" cries Luca. "Micra woke me up last night! She was still on her computer at midnight!" I reach out to swat her, though she's telling the truth. Shale and I got to talking, and, well, we were kind of up late.

"Well, my virtual daggers hit the target nine times out of ten now," I offer between bites. Mom glares down at my short, skinny self.

"It's not funny. I hate that you play that game. And it's not going to help you, either. You're virtual knives can hit virtual targets all day, but that won't do you any good if you're..." she leaves off in the silence of the table, not wanting to finish the sentence. There's always been a fair chance of me being chosen. I have twelve entries total, which isn't very many, compared to most. Shale though, he only has 3. No wait, he has 4. Today is his birthday! I completely forgot earlier.

"It's fine Mom, I'll cut back." I clear the dishes off the table and go back to my room to get ready. I hate dresses. Hate them. I put on my nicest black pants and a silky royal blue blouse. I don't have time to do my hair, so it goes up in a ponytail as usual. I add a necklace with a teardrop shaped pendant that Shale gave me for my birthday last year. Then I grab Shale's present. I'll give it to him at the reaping. I got him a deck of cards and a pick for his guitar. We all walk over to the Square, my Mom, Dad, sister and I.

When we get to square, I hug them all and head to the sparsely populated Fifteens' enclosure. On the screen, they're showing recaps of the first two Reapings. A crazy girl volunteers from one, and is joined by a twelve year old who looks about ready to bite her head off. _Like he could fit it in his tiny mouth,_ comments the voice in my head. Yeah, he's small, but he still looks creepy. He's wearing all black, and his red hair makes his head look like it's on fire. District Two makes a huge impression on me. These two scary gorgeous twins volunteer, and they both look like they could crush me with their bare hands. Strike that. They could either of them crush me with _one _bare hand.

Speaking of hands, I feel one on my shoulder and turn around. It's Shale, dressed nicely in khaki pants and a navy long sleeved shirt. I turn and grin.

"Happy Hunger Games," he says listlessly, though I can tell he's trying hard not to smile.

"Happy _Birthday!_" I say, hugging him. We step awkwardly apart, and I hand him his presents.

"Playing cards," he states, grinning. "Sweet. Now I can play poker more often." Shale is a compulsive gambler. I'm glad he likes the cards. He takes the guitar pick and sticks it in his pocket. "Thanks, Micra," he says.

"Any time. Did you see the scary mythology twins from District Two?" I point at the screen, where they show them again. "I'd hate to be the pour soul who has to go against those two."

"Does it matter though, Micra? Based on your theory of course." _Ah yes, my 'theory'_. See, I have this conspiracy theory that the 'losers' of the Hunger Games are the real winners. That the whole thing is staged, and the 'losers' are taken out of the arena, brainwashed, and made Capitol citizens. But I know deep down it's not true. I know that this year's tributes will die, just like District Three's almost every year.

"It matters." I say, shortly, since the mayor has come on stage. I really feel sick now, and I hardly notice that I'm leaning on Shale for support. All I can focus on is the movement of the mayor's lips as he begins his speech, and the overwhelming dizziness that I've felt only once, just before Shale had fallen out of a tree and broken his leg. Only now, it was a thousand times worse. I didn't notice our escort on the stage. I didn't hear her read the name. But I felt Shale stiffen beside me and whisper the word "No." And I felt a hundred pairs of eyes in the fifteens turn my way. That told me all I needed to know.

I push past my dizziness walk up to the stage, and I'm smiling, because I know it's finally over. The sickness all day was not a best friend being chosen. I don't have to watch them die. I'm smiling because it can't get any worse. On stage, I scan the crowd, trying not to meet Shale's eyes. I do glance over quickly to see the expression on his face. He looks… determined, for reasons I can't fathom.

"Now for our boy tribute!" says the escort, and I find my hearing is restored. I wonder who it is that I will have to face. I've settled on a brawny eighteen-year-old who seems to have fangs. I smile at him, but he doesn't notice.

"Shale Manson!" Hah, that's funny. I think I know that kid. _HELL YES YOU KNOW HIM! _shouts my mind. Wait… Shale Manson? _SHALE?!_ _No, not him, anyone else, but not him_. I can't watch him die! I can't _kill _him. My eyes plead with the audience. I'll look at anyone but Shale, who I can't let see my tears. I know the protocol, though, and I have to turn. He holds out his hand for me to shake, and we refuse to make eye contact. Awkwardly, I take it, wanting so much to hug him and just cry. We turn to the audience, still holding hands (I feel like I might fall otherwise) and the reaping is over.

I take visitors. I have quite a few friends come see me, and my family too. They all cry, even Luca, but only one friend makes an impression. When Talen and his brother Cable come to see me, I finally let myself cry. Cable leaves after a bit, but Talen stays. He's like a big brother and a best friend all in one, and I feel comfortable just hugging him. Finally, it's nearly time for him to go. He locks eyes with me and says only two words.

"Tell him," he says. I turn bright pink and turn away. "Micra, tell him before it's too late, or I'll go in right now and do it." I nod, lacking the usual will to smack him and tell him to shut up.

"Ok, ok, I will." We hug and he says goodbye. I pull myself together, and I leave the room for the train. First I have to tell Shale I think I love him. Then I have to watch him die.

* * *

**Shale Manson- 15, District 3**

_Happy Birthday,_ I tell myself bitterly when I wake up. It's my birthday all right, but it's Reaping Day, too. The first thing I do is log on to the internet. Oh, the irony of playing the Hunger Games video game on reaping day. I take a break from the fighting and head over to the training center, where I entertain myself by painting my character with berry juice. Micra's not online yet, so she must still be asleep. She has twelve entries this year to my four, and I've only worried about her every day since last reaping. She can't be chosen. Twelve isn't a lot, but I think it's an unlucky omen. After all, it's the age that you become eligible for the Games. I laugh at my character, who looks exactly like a leafy tree.

I notice a message has come up on my screen. _** Hey**__, __**How're you? **_I smile for the first time all morning.

_**Good**_, I type,_**all things considered. **_Which is true. Considering it's the Reaping today, I actually feel pretty positive._** And you?**_

_**What things considered? I'm fine too, I just feel kind of… Idk, superstitious or something. Like something awful's going to happen today. Crazy, right? **_I'm suddenly concerned. That one statement has told me that the Reaping will be worse than usual. Micra can… feel things sometimes. And whenever she feels like something bad will happen, something _awful_ happens. But, I pass it off as nothing.

_**Of course you feel that way, Micra. It's Reaping day. Probably some little Twelve will be chosen. That's what happened last time you felt sick on Reaping day. **_I respond. When we were Twelve, Micra felt sick on Reaping Day, and one of our classmates was chosen. A girl we both knew, but neither of us were close to her. I can hear my mom calling me for breakfast and sigh.

_**I gtg**__, _I type out. _**Breakfast, then the Reaping. See you there, I guess.**_ I can't wait. Not because I'm excited, but because the sooner the Reaping starts, the sooner it's over. I power down my computer and head downstairs. My Mom, Dad, brother Nat and sister Keri are waiting for me. Keri is twelve, so she'll be in the Reaping this year, but Nate is only ten. He's also obnoxious. We fight over the eggs on the table, and my parents, both being peacekeepers, keep the peace. Breakfast ends with all three of us being perpetually grounded when we return from the Reaping. Well, except me, since it's my birthday. I'll be perpetually grounded starting tomorrow.

Back in my room, I get ready. It's cool outside, so I throw on the first pair of nice pants I see and a dark blue long sleeved shirt. My sister is _still _getting ready and it's only about ten minutes until the start of the Reaping. I'm jumpy and can't wait to get out of the house. I know Micra is already in the Square and I want to see her. Finally we're able to leave. Keri makes her way calmly to the Twelves and I find Micra staring at the screen in the center of the Square, where they're showing the District 2 tributes, who appear to be twins.

I grab Micra's shoulder and she turns around. Her smile makes it hard for me to be upset, even on Reaping Day. "Happy Hunger Games," I say, trying to keep my voice devoid of emotion.

"Happy _Birthday_," she replies, unexpectedly hugging me. I just kind of stand there awkwardly, with my arms around her; enjoying the moment until she breaks away. She holds out her hands and I take a closer look. _Presents!_ She's gotten me playing cards, perfect for gambling in the schoolyard, and a pick for my guitar. It's red, my favorite color. I finally break down and let the smile spread across my face. "Playing cards. Sweet," I say. "Now I can play poker more often. Thanks, Micra."

"Any time. Did you see the scary mythology twins from District Two?" she says, directing my attention to the screen, where District 2 is still featured. I see that their names are Apollo and Artemis. I notice that even though I'm 5'7 and strong, they probably could kill me without blinking an eye. "I'd hate to be the pour soul who has to go against those two," Micra adds.

"Does it matter though, Micra? Based on your theory of course." See, Micra, crazy that she is, has this theory, that the Hunger Games are staged. We all know it's wrong, and I think she even knows. She just has an active imagination, and I don't blame her. Almost anything is better than reality in our world.

"It matters," she says bluntly. There are too many Fifteens for chairs, so we stand there together, waiting for the Reaping to start. Out of our group of friends, we're the only two who are fifteen. Talen is sixteen, and Cable fourteen. Micra has some friends who are fifteen, but they're nowhere to be found. The mayor comes on stage, but I'm barely listening. I'm more concerned with Micra, who looks sickly, like she's about to pass out. I'm worried about her, and I'm worried because she's never like this. Something is going to go dreadfully wrong, and I silently pray for Micra and Keri's safety. By the time the escort is on stage, Micra is essentially leaning on me. Past being concerned for her safety, I really don't mind. I can feel my heart jumping into my chest. It must be the nerves from the Reaping.

"Ladies first!" chirps our escort. She's new, and I don't know her name. Without warning, her had dives for the Reaping ball. "Looks like our lucky lady is Micra Platel! Come on up!" I go rigid.

"No!" I whisper. "No." I can't move, but I feel Micra leave from my side as a hundred people turn to stare at her, and even more as she nears the front. I see that she's smiling. What in _hell_ does she have to smile about? She stares down the crowd, all except me, and I can't help but think how beautiful she looks smiling up on stage. I know in that moment that I have to save her. I look determined for the cameras, preparing myself to volunteer after the boy's name is called.

"Now for our boy tribute!" I hate that woman. I hate the Capitol. I hate everyone, except Micra. "Shale Manson!" Hmm. That was easy. No need to volunteer for myself. I walk casually up to the stage. Micra looks dazed at first, then she turns away, and with a start, I realize she's crying. She turns to shake hands with me, and even though she won't meet my eyes, I can see her tears, and for the first time in my life, I _want _to kill. I want to kill the people who have done this to her- to us. We turn to the audience, and I register that I still haven't released Micra's hand. We're separated into separate visiting rooms, but I guess we'll have plenty of time to talk on the train.

My family visits me, and they all cry. They know I'm not coming back, and they know why, but they don't say it. Mom never approved of Micra much, and I bet she hates her even more now that she's going to keep me from coming back. I want to tell her I wouldn't come back anyway, but it doesn't matter much I guess. A few friends drop in, and tell me how sorry they are. The Talen, a friend of mine, who Micra has always called her brother, comes in.

"Shale, for God's sake, if you don't tell Micra the truth, I'm going to walk in that visiting room and tell her myself."

"What truth?" I demand.

"Shale," he says sympathetically. I look at him. "Everyone can see it. And she deserves to know." I give him and awkward brotherly hug and he leaves. I know it's the last time he'll ever see me alive. As I walk to the train that will take me to my death, I realize I have a serious problem. First, I have to tell Micra that I might love her. Then I have to die.

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**So, how do you like the District 3 tributes? -tear- I cried writing this, for all interested.**


	4. District Four Reaping Harrell and Jace

A shout out to my phantom readers! Feel free to drop a review, even if you're unsure about sponsoring! It is still a story! :)

To clear things up, tributes can have as many or as few sponsors as they get.

And sorry it took so long for this update, My teachers seem to have loved Homework this past week.

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Harrell Lennox- 16, District 4**

I suppose you could call me an early riser. I can't help it. I just… wake up. I pity everyone else though. I'm able to get up early, which means I have plenty of time to swim in the mornings. _Alone._ I'm glad I live in District Four, because I love the sea more than anything in the world. I'm not exactly sure where our district is, but I think it's somewhere north, because it's freezing here in the winter. So today, even though it's reaping day, I wake up early and head for the docks. Technically, we aren't supposed to swim in that part of the ocean. It's dangerous, they say. This is where they usually harpoon fish, so there can be a constant rain of spears coming from above, like some kind of vengeful wizard cursed that area. That, and there are said to be capitol muttations near here. Man eating fish of gigantic proportions, sharks genetically modified to come close to shore and prey on humans, and of course, the kraken! I don't doubt that they're out there somewhere, but I don't think they're near our shores. The Capitol seems to love District Four after all. As for the harpoons, hey, nobody works on Reaping Day. Most people are still asleep.

I near the docks, and through the fog, I haven't seen a single sign of human life. I fancy that I'm on my own private planet. It's peaceful, and the weather's perfect. Not too hot or too cold. I know that it's going to all end this afternoon. Another reason to head out this morning. When I volunteer this afternoon, there's a small chance of my never being able to swim in the ocean again. And whether I win or not, this will be the last time in my life I will be truly alone. I may end up alone in the arena, but 23 other people trying to kill you take the peace away from that. I've reached the docks, and dive into the water. It's cold, and I come up gasping, with my hair plastered to my skin. My hair is weird. Not quite red, but not quite brown. The word for it is auburn, I think. Our school isn't heavy on vocabulary. Just fishing, the Games, fishing, swimming, and fishing. Me though, I love to read. I like writing too for that matter. I have about ten finished short stories, and loads more unfinished. Maybe that can be my victor 'talent' after I win the Games. If I win the Games.

Floating on my back in the waves, I can see the sun begin to rise over the horizon of the water. I smile, seeing how the pinks and reds and oranges blend together. It's _beautiful_. District Four sunrises are the best, I bet, because you can see the color in the sky and on the water. The sun illuminates the water and vaporizes the fog. I can see now, if there were anything to see.

A dark shape moves through the water, its fin cutting circles around me. A dolphin! I give a delighted cry and latch onto the protruding fin. He pulls me around for a while. We splash, and I let my mind wander far from here. Finally, I release the dolphin and climb up a ladder mounted to one of the wooden pillars.

On the dock I shake some of the water off myself. It's not a far walk to my home in the Victor's village. Dad didn't get to pick it out when he won. It's an ugly pink thing that looks like one of Mom's antique collector dollhouses. Wooden lace hangs from the doors and windows. It was the first house built in the district. The previous owner, the first victor from our District, died inside it a few years before Dad won. I think it's haunted. When I get there, I shower off the salt water and dry off. I sit in my room and write until Mom and Dad wake up.

It may have been minutes or hours when my avox knocked on my door to announce breakfast. I smile at him and head for the stairs. Poor guy. Better he work for us than for the Capitol people though. I hear some of them beat their servants. I can't imagine. I'll just have to get used to it though, if I'm going to be a proper victor like Dad. I sit at the table and eat silently, while Dad once again lists all the reasons I must volunteer today. Something about strength and honor. That, and following in his footsteps, not disgracing him in front of all Panem. He doesn't care if I live or die. He cares if I win or lose. I don't think he realizes they're the same thing.

After a huge breakfast, I go to get ready. I try to apply makeup, but just spill red glitter all over myself and the floor. While our avox cleans it, I get dressed in the bathroom. I pick out something nice, but I'm not really looking. I slip my lucky white quartz into the inside pocket of the dress. It will be my token in the arena. I don't need to look in the mirror. I look the same as I always do. Straight reddish brown hair, greenish eyes, and freckles, dreadful freckles, all over my arms and my legs. Might as well have a skin disease the way they look.

This done, me and my parents head for the square. Dad takes his place on stage, with our several other victors. I head for the section of Sixteens, and nearly trip over a little boy half my age. He's adorable, with golden brown hair that seems to shimmer as smiles winningly up at me. _That one will be a heart-breaker_, I think. _And a survivor_. I notice even at eight, he already seems to have shaped muscles, and the shape of a penknife is obvious through his pocket. I smile at him, apologize, and wave him on his way.

I take a seat in the roped-off section of Sixteens, between my friends Kylie and Arro. Kylie smiles at me.

"Hey Harrell! You look great!" she says. "Perfect for the Capitol!"

"What?" hisses Arro. He hadn't been let in on the fact that I was volunteering today. "Harrell, what if you _die_?"

Yeah, thanks Arro. Like I haven't thought of that. And it won't be any kind of noble death either, not if I run with careers. It'll be a bloodthirsty end, after our alliance turns on one another like vicious dogs, or is torn apart by the same.

"Puh-leeease, Arro. This is why we didn't tell you, silly! You're so serious!" Kylie bubbles. Actually, Arro might be going somewhere with this.

I tell him so, and add, "but Dad's going to kick me out if I don't go this year. And I kind of want to. It'll be an adventure, you know?" _Liar._

Arro looks like he's going to protest again, but luckily, the mayor finds her way on stage at this point. Mayor Harvee looks down at us, with a stern glare that condemns anyone who talks to some form of eternal damnation. Kylie, Arro and I sit in silence, pretending to give our polite attention to the mayor's speech, the escort's speech, a speech from one of our victors who's not my dad, a speech from my dad, and _finally_, a closing speech from the mayor.

Our escort, Shear, bounces to the front of the stage. Her silver hair (not grey, but silver) shimmers in the light of the sun. I notice her skin is silver too. Maybe all the Capitol citizens are aliens?

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" she chitters. "Let's shake things up this year!" _Hmm?_ Several people look around, confused. "We're going to start with the gentlemen this year!" _Oh_. The crowd relaxes.

"Would the young man called Mick Reel come on up?" Mick is tall and slim, with a dangerous glint in his eye. He's one of the harpoon fishers- a sadistic boy in my year who likes to spear fish and watch them flop around and die on deck. He almost scares me off from volunteering, but luckily, another boy steps in for him. A boy with chocolate colored skin and dreadlocks of relatively the same color jumps onto the stage, and seems to threaten the other boy. He removes his sunglasses, revealing eyes like black marbles, and introduces himself as Jace King.

"Now for our female tribute!" She pulls out a slip. "Kylie Brooks!" Kylie giggles next to me and heads for the stage. When she reaches it, she stands there waving at me. I sigh, give a winning smile and shout out.

"I VOLUNTEER!" I say. "I volunteer for Kylie Brooks!"

The escort makes a short squeaky speech about how proud of the District she is. Jace and I shake hands, and are escorted by peacekeepers to the visiting rooms. Kylie is the first to come see me.

"Isn't that so funny!? I wan't scared a bit Harrell, I knew you were volunteering! I'm so excited for you! You're going to be _great_." I swear, Kylie belongs among the Capitol citizens, as off the wall as she is. I don't think she can take anything seriously.

After fifteen minutes of Kylie babbling, she has to leave. Arro comes in then.

"Be careful Harrell. I know they call it the Games, but they're not. And I know you're trained, but so are Districts One and Two. I saw the Reapings this morning- they're downright scary."

"Thanks, Arro. You take care of Kylie. Don't let her do anything stupid if… if something happens." _If I die_. This is all surreal, like I'm stuck inside a novel, having my life written by someone else. But I have to be more confident than that. As a volunteer, I need to be strong. I need to _win. _

Last, Mom and Dad come in. Dad just tells me not to disgrace myself and then leaves.

"You can win Honey," my Mom whispers. "You've trained for this!" She was always my favorite parent. I hug her.

"Bye Mom," I say with a smile. "See you in a few weeks."

I stick my hand in my pocket a rub the quartz between my fingers as I leave. The cameras flash in my eyes for a few moments, then I'm on the train. Maybe they'll have a notebook waiting for me. I need to write my story.

* * *

**Jace King- 18, District 4**

I'm in the minority in my District, in several ways. First, my looks. Lots of people in our District have tanned or darker skin, but brown, like mine? It's almost unheard of outside my family. Luckily, I'm about average height and build. I don't need anything else to help me stand out.

Second, I hate the Capitol, but I love the Hunger Games. I'm one of the few kids who will volunteer in my lifetime of my own free will. Most kids do it 'cause their parents tell them to, or their friends make them, or to try and win money or popularity. I want to fight. I love a good fight, I can't stay away.

Third, I'm a loner. I just never seemed to 'click' with other people. My younger twin brothers are my closet friends, and that's saying something. I've never been unhappy with it though. I guess I'm just okay with being on my own.

And last, I'm _smart_. Most of the blockheads here can't do anything more intellectually challenging than dropping a net into water. I'd like to keep my intelligence under wraps though. People who think I'm no smarter than the average District Four kid may underestimate me. And that could be my greatest weapon in the arena. People don't think some dumb kid of average size can beat them. They're wrong.

And because of all this, I've been bullied for as long as I can remember. Not to my face. No one who knows anything about me would dare insult me to my face. Not after the cafeteria incident last year. I can't help it. They just push me over the edge.

It's Reaping Day, and I'm practicing in front of the mirror in my room of our mansion. I'm practicing a look of brutish indifference. I don't want to distinguish myself from any other career. I need to disappear into the pack. I don't eat breakfast. I'm not hungry, and I'll be getting _plenty _of Capitol fare in time. I don't dress up either. Black jeans,a shirt and a black leather jacket cover it. I tie a coin into my hair for my token. Add sunglasses, and that should do it. The sun's just come out through the fog, even though it's almost noon. I feel very classic rock. It's my secret passion. I listen to a few songs until it's time to go. Dad walks a bit further behind with the twins. Nobody needs to see me with them. The twins. They're twelve this year. They might as well not be eligible for the reaping though, because if either is chosen, I'm volunteering anyway.

In the square, I take a seat in the front of the already crowded section of eighteen-year-olds. I can feel their eyes on me, but I need to get used to that. In a few weeks, my face will be broadcast on every screen in Panem during my victory interview. Being noticed is something I'll need to get used to.

Mayor Harvee comes to the stage, sending dagger-like glares over the offending crowd. We fall silent immediately. For a little old lady, she's _tough_. I fall asleep during the speeches and the reading of the treaty. A guy in my class, a kind of acquaintance, elbows me awake at some point after. He probably heard I'm going into the Games today and can't wait for me to die. Shear, our escort is on stage. It's like someone sprayed her all over with silver. I glare at her over the top of my sunglasses.

"Get on with it," I mutter. Someone shushes me and I roll my eyes. I just want out. The sooner I win, the better.

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!" she cries out in her squeaky Capitol falsetto. "Let's shake things up this year!"

_No!_ I'm eighteen! If she does a _single thing _to screw with my chances of volunteering this last year, we'll have a different escort next year. _If looks could kill…_ "We're going to start with the gentlemen this year!"

Oh, well if that's all it is. Now I can volunteer earlier. All the better for me. The sooner I get this done with, the better. I'm not a fan of the public eye, but the Victor's Village ought to be worth it. And the arena, in itself, will be its own reward.

"Would the young man called Mick Reel come on up?" Mick is some kind of creepy boy who breaks the legs off crabs and possibly five-year olds. He's tall and thin, and in the front row, I can see his veins and his bones through his skin. It's kind of unnerving.

I jump up onto the stage , not bothering to walk to the stairs. "I suggest you move," I growl at Mick. He glares at me, but exits the stage. I remove my sunglasses and face the escort.

"I'm Jace King, and I volunteer as the male tribute from District 4." I replace the sunglasses and turn to the audience yet again.

I'm not really paying attention, until a bouncy blonde who must be my female counterpart comes and waves at the crowd. She then throws her other arm around my shoulders. It takes all my self control not to break it. Thank God someone volunteers for her. A girl with pin-straight auburn hair. She's smart too, and best friends with the airhead who was formerly a tribute. All the more reason for her to be eliminated. She shouldn't be painful to work with though. I know I'll need to stick with careers in the early stages of the Games to survive. I'm not going to take any crap from them, so I hope they're more… reserved than Airhead was.

After the ceremony, we're escorted to the visiting rooms. I only have two. My Dad doesn't come, but the twins do. They encourage me, and wish me luck. I don't need it. I don't believe in luck. I thank them anyway and board the train.

There's going to be one hell of a storm coming.

That's good. I need a good fight.

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**I believe we all know what the green button does. :)**


	5. District Five Reaping Rika and Donnel

**AN: **Okay! Long week. The computer I was writing this on crashed. Then my internet crashed. The they re-blocked fanfiction at my school, so I couldn't load it there. So now I can only post weekends and evenings. But I got it done, so do enjoy the District Five tributes!

And for all my lovely Phantom Readers, if you or my regular reviewers can design clothes, please _please_ help me with chariot and interview costumes. I'll love you forever in a totally non-creepy way. :)

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**Rika Shard- 13, District 5**

Reaping Day! It's a Day of celebration, and always has been in District Five. False celebration, maybe, but that doesn't stop it from being fun! We're going to have a dance tonight in celebration of the Games. It's going to be really exciting. I'm definitely going. My best friend, Chinna is going too, with her new boyfriend Collin. He's _fourteen_! A whole year older than us. Chinna said Collin is bringing his friend to the dance to meet me. I hope he's nice, since a lot of the guys I know are immature jerks. Anyway, I can't wait for the Reaping to be over so we can party! Of course, every year some people don't go to the dance. They say they're "against the Games" or whatever. And last year, Kevin Jamison, the absolute _cutest_ boy in the whole District, skipped out just because his snobby sister got Reaped. He won't be there tonight either. I heard from Chinna who heard it from Collin who heard it from his brother's girlfriend. Apparently there's too many 'painful memories'. So Kevin's totally unattainable tonight. Oh well. The party will still be the best. My sisters, Tally and Rosemary are still asleep. I don't know what time it is since our only working clock is in the kitchen. I'm just about to get up when I hear the shout.

"Halde, Mike, Tally, Rosemary, Jeffery, Rika! Breakfast!" My sisters and I all sit up on our mattresses. I jump out of bed and run down the hall. YES! I'm first. I scoop out as much teserae grain oatmeal as I can fit in my bowl. I deserve the most, since I'm the one who has to take most of the tesserae out. Halde, at 19 is too old, Mike is in his last year of eligibility. Tally and Rose refuse to take it out, and Jeffery is my parents' favorite.

I smile at my brothers and sisters as they come into the kitchen. They let my mom get food for herself and my soon-to-be-born little brother or sister first. There still ends up being plenty for everyone, but in District Five, you never know. My Dad comes in last. He fixes a quick bowl and then has to leave. He's helping set up the stage for the Reaping this morning. He kisses my Mom and each of us kids goodbye and leaves.

I make sure I finish eating first so I can have our room to change. Being the youngest, I get _all_ the hand-me-downs. Which isn't great, but I never have to worry about when I'm going to get new clothes. I always have something to wear when I grow! I pick an old dress of Rose's. It's a faded pale pink color that hugs my chest and comes down almost to my ankles. I'm going to wear it to the dance tonight too. I yank a comb through my wavy dark blonde hair. Hmm. Not perfect, but doable; the cameras won't be on me anyway. Yeah, I have eighteen entries, but loads of people have more than that.

I've just finished with my hair when Tally and Rose kick me out. I head to our family room and sit down on the old couch. I turn on the TV, but they've taken a break from the Reapings and are already interviewing people as they come out of the visiting rooms. I turn the TV back off. The Games don't really interest me anyway. I must have dozed off, because before I know it, Halde is shaking me awake. For a moment, I entertain the hope that I slept through the reaping and it's time for the dance, but I know that's not possible.

"C'mon Rika, It's time to go," says Halde.

"Okay," I chirp, bouncing off the couch. We all head to the square and take our various places in the crowd. Chinna snuck into the fourteens to be with her boyfriend, so I'm hanging out with a big group of friends from theater at school. I'm talking to Eric, who's afraid of being chosen. He has eighteen entries, same as me. I tell him there's no way we'll be picked. After all, we're only thirteen. We discuss our latest play, a musical. I'm sure I got the lead role, but results won't be posted until next Tuesday. If I don't get the role, Francis, the mayor's daughter will. She's thirteen like us. We're sort of friends, but her Dad's really corrupt. Probably bought the role for his little darling. When you're the mayor, you can do that. Here he is now, on stage, reading the treaty of treason to the assembled crowd.

Eric and I stop talking and pretend to pay attention to the speech. This is the thirteenth time I've heard the treaty, so I kind of tune out. It's great though, that the mayor can stand up and do this every year. I know I couldn't. The treaty is still the same, but he delivers it and the new speech with more enthusiasm than usual. Yep, Francis has the part for sure.

Our escort, Tilly, and her rainbow hair and skin flounce up to the podium. She hasn't always been rainbow. Two years ago, she alternated shades of red. I actually like rainbow better. It suits her. "Hello District Five!" she cheers. "I know we can win the Hunger Games this year! Let's meet the tributes who will represent this great place!" In the silence that follows, the cows can be heard and a wind picks up, wafting the scent of manure at the stage. It could be worse I guess. We could be coal miners, or risk our lives hunting dangerous wild beasts.

Tilly reaches into the girls' ball and pulls out a card. "Ladies first! Our very lucky female tribute is… Paprika Shard!" The crowd erupts in sniggers at the sound of my name being called. Hey, it's not my fault that my parents stopped being creative with their naming after six kids. I think my name is cute.

WAIT. My name? MY NAME? Ah shoot. I walk through the crowd, and I'm inadvertently starting to cry. I have to stop, or it'll get me killed. I wipe my eyes with my arm and force a smile on my face. I pass through the eighteens and climb to the stage. I wave at Chinna in the crowd, and she waves back, tear-faced. I can't cry, so I think about all the best things about this. I'm going to see the _Capitol._ The fantastic, gleaming Capitol. I get to eat their food, and wear the best clothes money can buy. This is going to be great!

Some kid named Donnel Talbot joins me on stage, shaking, looking fragile even beside me. I smile at him when we shake hands, and wish him luck. Tilly looks disappointed. I think she wanted two of those brawny eighteen year olds who wrestles bears or something.

"Well," she says, composing herself. "One of you is going to be our next winner! Let's give them a cheer!" The crowd obeys and applauds for us. After that, we're whisked off to the visiting rooms. First, my parents and all five of my siblings all crowd in together. All they do is hug me and cry. The only person who talks is Halde, telling me to hide from everyone else, and that he knows I can win. I think he's underestimating me, thinking I'll have to stay hidden the whole Game, but he has good intentions.

After that, Chinna comes in. She hugs me and tells me I'll do great. She promises to take good care of my favorite cow, Jess. That's when I start to cry. I'm still crying when Eric, Ginny and Francis from theater come in. They wish me good luck too. "I'll be fine guys," I say through my tears. "The food's going to be great too. I'll be sure to wave at you guys at my interview!" I really don't mind going, as long as I keep my mind off the 23 kids who die each year. I wipe away the tears again until the train, and then Donnel and I head for the Games. I wonder what costume they'll put me in for the Opening Ceremonies.

* * *

**Donnel Talbot- 14, District 5**

Most kids are scared of the Reaping because they're afraid of Death. I'm not. Never have been. Death is a part of life, a new beginning, whatever. With every breath you take you risk your life. I know I'm going to die someday, and even though I try not to, I dwell on it. Because I'm not afraid of death itself. I'm afraid of _dying_. I'm afraid of how it will happen. And that's why, ever since I understood its purpose, the mention of the Reaping makes my skin crawl. It's despicable, 23 kids dying in pain, afraid, full of fear, year after year. I think it's horrible. And it scares me. The other boys would call me cowards if they knew the fear that runs through my body on this day every year, but they're a bunch of lying hypocrites. They feel it too. And by the time they're called and have to show that fear, nobody has a cold enough heart to make fun of them anyway. Who could?

And now, the day has come again. This year is my third Reaping. I guess that makes me as close to halfway through the main part of this horror. In four years, I'll never again have a chance of entering the hellish arena populated by fear. But it will never end. My children, their children, ALL children, will live with the fear of dying for the rest of time. Just like me. Maybe I just shouldn't have kids. Maybe no one should. But then, if my parents thought like that, I wouldn't be around today.

For fourteen years, fear has ruled my life. It's only gotten worse. Two years past, I nearly did die. It was just a normal picnic with my normal family, as a way to relieve stress before mine and Delia's first reaping. Tracker Jackers. I thought watching my Mom, Dad and little twin sister die was part of the hallucinations from the stings. It wasn't. The pain, physical and emotional, was worse than I thought I could imagine. And I was scared into a state of constant paranoia. Now, standing in the square, I remember my first Reaping, just a week after that. I was so weak from the attack and shock, I had to be carried into the square on a stretcher. They called two names I don't remember, and we watched them die. The girl in the bloodbath, the boy fighting the District Ten girl for the crown.

Our tributes die almost every year.

When I arrive by myself in the square, I stand alone, apart from most of the Fourteens. I like it this way. I was never a loner by choice before the incident, but now… people and I just don't see eye-to-eye. I wish we did, but we don't. Soon however, the numbers close in, and I find myself claustrophobically pressed against some girl hanging over someone that I really hope is her boyfriend. Lucky him. All I have for company are the cows in the fields and the muttations the Capitol forces some of us to train.

The mayor, a rather pudgy and corrupt man, is giving his yearly "the Capitol is so perfect" speech. If they were perfect, would all their Districts' citizens live all their lives in fear? No.  
He delivers the speech with more vigor than usual. I wonder what good deal he's made for himself recently, and at whose expense.

A few phrases stand out at me. "Our forgiving government," "spectacular contest for glory and wealth," and "grim reminder of our past mistakes" are among them. Listening to the speech and the treaty for the first time in my life, I realize what a load of crap the Capitol is, and see why the Districts initially rebelled fifty-seven years ago. Maybe we should try again. But then we'd all die. Maybe I'd die quickly, in some kind of glorious explosion. Or slowly, in some chrome torture chamber. Maybe a second rebellion is a bad idea.

Tilly, our multicolored escort, takes the mayor's place at the podium. He sits down next to our victors. The victors on stage are an old man who seems to have fallen asleep, a middle-aged woman with pointy glasses, and a young girl who won maybe five or six years ago. Tilly begins to speak, so I focus my attention on her.

"Hello District Five!" she squeaks into the mic. "I know we can win the Hunger Games this year! Let's meet the tributes who will represent this great place!" There is nothing but a heavy silence to greet her optimism. In that silence, you can hear the cows making obnoxious noises and smell the manure on the new breeze. Fine place, indeed. Are any of the districts worse off than us? Maybe the coal miners are-down in the dark all day, breathing in soot, with the threat of cave-in and suffocation literally hanging over their heads twelve hours a day. Just thinking about it makes me sick. Or maybe it's the smell of cow droppings.

Tilly wrinkles her perfect rainbow nose and clears her throat. She reaches for the glass ball that has the name of every girl in the District. "Ladies first!" she squeals. "Our very lucky female tribute is… Paprika Shard!"

Okay, I laughed. Hard. I couldn't help it, but what sane person names their child _Paprika?_ Like, seriously? I know people like to go for something unique, but that's ridiculous. Maybe they really like to flavor their food? The girl next to me erupts into tears. Maybe they're friends. Or maybe she's crying at the abomination of someone name Paprika being entered in the Games. Hasn't she suffered enough? Me and the rest of the crowd are still laughing at Paprika when we hear the name of the boy tribute. I shut up immediately, spend a nanosecond damning karma to the deepest circle of Hell, and then claim to being the 'lucky' Donnel Talbot.

On stage, it's all I can do not to burst into tears. I'm going to die, and there's nothing me or anyone else can do about it. I'm going to die and it's all the Capitol's fault. I'm going to die, and it's going to _hurt_. It's going to be a painful, bloody death. Maybe, I could jump off the platform before the sixty seconds and be killed instantly and painlessly. The idea cheers me as much as one about death can. At least I have some kind of plan, even if it sucks.

The escort is eyeing Paprika and I with distaste. I'm sure I know why. The two of us- one silly girl who seems to treat this like a game and a perfectly average looking boy with claustrophobia and paranoia issues who's already given up, are hardly the ideal tributes to bring victory to her precious District.

"Well," she chirps, pulling herself together. "One of you is going to be our next winner!" _Yeah right_. "Let's give them a cheer!"

Everyone knows we're going to die, but the clap for us anyway. I start to shake with fear. I won't survive, whether I try or not. But I don't know if I can bring myself to blow myself up. Can I? No. Which means I'm condemning myself to a terrible Games-worthy demise. The visiting room is just a holding cell for me. Nobody knows me. My family died two years ago. Then, five minutes before it's time to go, she comes in. A quiet girl from my class at school. She wants to wish me luck, and says she misses the way I used to be. Before, y'know, the incident.

It's nice of her, but I'm not coming back. All I feel is raw fear. As we go to the trains, I know the cameras can see me, and that means the tributes can. I'm a weakling, a target. Just another pathetic tribute who can only think about how they're going to die. The cameras swarm in, and my vision starts to blur. The crowd is pressing, and I can't avoid them. As soon as the train doors close behind me, I collapse senseless on the floor. _I don't have a chance._

* * *

**Ahh, Donnel. Poor baby :( I know he doesn't really describe anything until the square, but that's how he is. And Rika went from being an optimist to a relatively shallow seventh-grader. Ah well. C'est la vie!**


	6. District Six Reaping Zara and Sten

**AN: **I've noticed I usually get updates up on Mondays, so that's a good day to look for them. I'll try to get two up a week now, but i make no promises. So, I will _most likely_ be updating Mondays and maybe Thursdays. But today is now Sunday, so here's a treat!

Remember, I still need some more lovely costumes. I think I have the arena planned out, and it's going to be wonderful. But for now, I present to you... District Six!

* * *

**Zara Addison- 15, District 6**

It's the twins who wake me up this morning, just the same as every morning. The only difference is that today is _Reaping Day_. I should be sleeping in, but instead, I'm lying on a bed while two ten-year-old boys bounce up and down on my twenty-five year old mattress. First, I try to ignore it. That lasts about .004 seconds.

"I'll give you three seconds to get out of my room," I growl. They respond with more bouncing and some obnoxious laughter sprinkled in. God I hate them! "Three, two, one." No change is visible in the boys. Fine then. Time for plan B.

"GET THE HELL OUT!" I scream, pushing one of them towards the door. "Come _on_! What did I ever do to _you_?" Laughing, the two of them bounce down the hallway. "AND STAY OUT!" I shout. With all my strength, I slam the door behind them. Good riddance, if you ask me. Maybe they can find someone else to annoy. _Yeah, and maybe the Capitol will be brought down by teenagers_. I think. _Unlikely_.

I hear a noise in the room next to mine, which means that because of the boys, my parents are now up. _Lovely_. Now they're going to come in here and tell me it's all my fault I have twin demons for brothers. I twist key in the lock on my door, and when I hear the angry pounding, inform them that I'm changing. And it's true. I pull on the nicest dress I have, a green one. Out my window, I see a breeze bending the small twig we call a tree in our yard. Better add leggings to the dress, just to be safe. I don't need any unnecessary humiliation on Reaping Day. My nerves are tight enough as it is.

I open the door, to find my parents still waiting to talk to me. I have to sit through Mom's usual lecture about treating my brothers with 'respect'. And how it's a two way street etc. _Exactly! Why can't they start! _Dad just yells about how it's too early to be woken up in such a 'disruptive manner' or something like that. _SO YOU SEE MY POINT! _I scream in my head. But I don't want to yell at my parents. I love them, and they want what's best for me. They just don't _get it_. I apologize to them, glare at my brothers, and that's about the best they'll get from me. Of course, we're all on edge today, aren't we? Another great thing about my life? I get to take out tesserae for the twins, risking my life for them to eat. I take it out for them and my parents, but I've never taken any for myself. I'd rather starve than go into the Games. Besides, I can filch whatever I need from _somewhere_. We don't even need the tesserae, really, but Mom says we have to have it just in case.

So at age fifteen, I have twenty-four chances to go into the arena. It's not fair. It's the Capitol's stinking fault. And the rebels'. And _everyone _else's. But the kids eligible for the Games now, and most of their parents, weren't even alive during the stupid rebellion. So _why_ are they making us kill each other, letting us die. We're scientists here, and we're supposed to find answers, but so far, nobody knows the answer to the biggest questions of all. Why does the Capitol hate us? Why do they sit and watch while we die? Why was I born in one of the Districts? If I've learned one thing in fifteen years, it's this. Life sucks, but we'll still do anything to hold on to ours as long as possible. _I _think it's because, at the end of the day, that's all we have. That's why we cling to life like pathetic little parasites even though it's completely miserable. We must all be idiots.

After a breakfast of some tiny eggs and baker's bread, I sit on the floor in front of our crummy TV and wait for the twins to get dressed. You'd think they're little girls, as long as they take to get ready. Eventually, though they bound down the stairs, looking unusually clean. We try to look our best on Reaping Day so we don't look as pathetic in comparison to the other Districts, but we don't fool anyone. The districts six through around ten are totally overlooked, because we're not pathetically poor, but we're not filthy rich Districts either. We're just sort of, there, you know?

We don't really have to walk to the square. Basically, you walk out the front door and there you are. We live at the very edge of the square, so a lot of people mistake us as a richer family. We're not, but we did inherit the family house from our rich ancestors. Dad refuses to sell it, even though it could keep all us twins out of tesserae for life. Sometimes I resent him for that, but I also understand. After all, it's him who squandered all the money that went with it betting on the Games. Might as well keep the _house_. Might as well keep _something_.

In the square, I separate from my family. None of them are eligible, so they stand with the crowd, while I and all the other teenagers in the square find our way to our little pens. I see Jessica, one of my best friends, and decide t sneak up behind her, knowing how much it freaks her out. I walk as silently as I can up to where she's talking with another girl from our school. I think her name is Victoire, but I'm known for screwing up names- especially when the person's back is turned to me. I'm really not very quiet but with the noise of the crowd, I don't need to be. I trip momentarily over some tall boy's foot. The huge, lumbering, menacing figure _smiles_ at me and walks away. He's going to try and beat me up later, I'm sure. I'll kick his ass if he so much as raises a finger to me. I come up behind Jess and hear her conversation.

"…finally get chosen this year. About time we got rid of her!" says the other girl. By the sound of her voice, I know it's Victoire. Good for her to know that it's about time that jerk Kym is chosen for the Games. I don't want her to die per se, but I don't want to deal with her anymore. Ever.

"I _know_. She's such a pain! I'll enjoy watching Zara get her ass kicked on national television." I stop short. _Zara? But, that's _my_ name,_ I think. This can't be right. It must've been a slip of the tongue.

"Totally. Zara thinks she's so tough, let's see what happens to her when she actually _has _to be!" I back away, not believing, not wanting to. I'm trying not to cry. I never cry, but I've never been betrayed before. I've never been told someone wants me to die. I stand at the very edge of the fifteens in total shock. I want to talk to Connor, my best guy friend, but he's sixteen, so I'll have to wait until after the thrice damned Reaping.

"Good Morning, citizens of District Six," starts our mayor in a robotic voice. "Welcome to the Reaping Ceremony for the Fifty-Seventh annual Hunger Games. The Hunger Games are…" _Don't worry, we all know what the Hunger Games are._ I thought. The mayor proceeded through the speech, stopping only once to cough loudly into the microphone. My sarcastic comments on the speech remained in my head for once. I had no one to share them with. By the end of the speech, most of the square was asleep. Our new, scaly escort woke everyone up though. I mean, when I say scaly, I mean he was, well, covered in scales. Um, gross! His name was Slithys too. I had an immediate dislike for him.

"Happy Hunger Gamessss." He even hissed? Seriously? I really wanted to slap some sense into him and all his fellow Capitol people. "We draw from girlsssss ball firsssst, yesss?" he said, a fanged smile on his face.

"Our girl tribute isssss, Zara Addissson!" Crap. I walk forward to the stage, and stand as far away from snake-man as possible. He extends his hand for me to shake, and I just can't take it anymore. His stupid hissing, Victoire and Jess' stupid giggling, and the stares of the crowd push me over the edge, and I smack his hand away. Several people blink and shake their heads, thinking the imagined my act. I'm glad I did it, but a little worried over the consequences. He might bite me. But Slithys just laughs.

"Now, we pick from the boyssss." He reaches into the glass ball to select the boy who will have to fight me for his life. I'd hate to be him. "Sssssten Lockney?" he calls out. The boy just happens to be the one who tripped me as I walked to the square. The huge one. He doesn't seem so menacing now, and I wonder if he wasn't ever going to beat me up at all. And as I look at him, I notice in his eyes he's absolutely terrified, but he's doing a good job of hiding it. Not unlike most tributes. He'll be quick to go, I bet. His size won't help him much if he's not going to use it. I hate pacifists. They just make things difficult. I glare at him, and stiffly shake his hand. He looks confused at my hostility. _It's the Hunger Games, dude, get used to it. _We go off to the visiting room next. Victoire and Jess come in and say how sorry they are I have to go.

"Well, I should do all right since I act so tough. It'll be nice to see how I do when I actually have to be." My eyes meet Victoire's, and I know she knows I heard her earlier. "And if not, it may be interesting to see me, what was it, 'get my ass kicked on live TV'?" Jess and Victoire leave without another word, and I feel kind of accomplished. I get a rush from their embarrassment.

"Zara?" I turn to see Connor standing in the doorway. "I uh, heard you destroy those girls a minute ago. You okay?" I shake my head and start to break down. The betrayal, the Games, it's all too much for one day. Connor holds me while I cry.

"Come back, Zara, okay. You've got so much to live for," he says. I hug him one last time before he has to leave. I can't think I've ever had a better friend than Connor is to me. I'm going to miss him while I'm in the arena.

"Goodbye Connor. I'll be careful." My parents and the twins come in and cry over me. Yep, even the twins, though that might be because they're losing their source of tesserae grain. I don't want to make promises I can't keep and say I'll come back, so I just say I'll be careful and try my best, which I will.

After all, how hard can it be?

* * *

**Sten Lockney- 17, District 6**

Growing up in District Six, one thing I've had drilled into me since birth is the Scientific Method. So, let's start. Question- will I be able to sleep in today? Research- It's been six years and I haven't slept late a single Reaping Day Hypothesis- I won't get to sleep late on Reaping Day. Experiment- I can hear Dad pounding on the door now. Conclusion- If I don't get out of bed now, I'll regret it. So yeah, my hypothesis was correct. Great. I heave myself out of bed and come out before Dad can get to me. The second I open the door, he shoves a sheet of calculations for his latest project into my hands and goes back to his room without a single word to me. I work on the calculations over a decent breakfast. That's one thing I can't complain about. We've always had plenty of money, so I always have food to eat. It takes awhile to finish Dad's stuff, but I eventually conclude that whatever the gadget is won't work unless it uses up all the electricity in the entire District. Dad won't be pleased to hear that. I ought to get myself out.

I head back to my room, where my bed tempts me to reacquaint myself with it. I decide not to. Like I said, better if I get myself far away before Dad sees my notes. Because I hypothesize that he'd… do something about it, which would be bad for me. This is one experiment I don't want to test. I throw on some dress pants and a wrinkled old shirt.

Dad probably went back to sleep, because I could hear him snoring while I got ready. Suddenly, the low rumbling noise stops. _Dammit, no time!_ I look down at the drop from my second floor window, as I hear Dad's footsteps in the hall. This fall could really dirty up my nice clothes.

"STEN! GEDDOWN HERE BOY!" So, the drop it is. I grasp my windowsill and lower myself until I'm hanging completely out the window. "STEN!!" Is now accompanied by pounding on my locked door. I hypothesize that if I let go now, it will hurt a lot less than Dad's wrath. So I release my grip and fall into open space.

The bushes cushion my fall to an extent. I have a few bruises probably, and nothing seems to be bleeding or broken. Because of my size, I can't hide, so, I take off running out of sight before Dad has the chance to look out the window.

I'm not fast, but I manage to get away. I slow down, as I approach the square. I'm not eager to get to the Reaping. Just like every year, a little boy will be picked, and for weeks, his family and friends will glare at me and accuse me. They will wonder why I didn't enter the arena. Why the boy who seems strong and tough and has nothing to live for didn't save their child. And it shouldn't, but it makes me feel guilty. I could have saved one of them if I volunteered, yes. I don't have much to live for. But that doesn't mean I want to die. People just can't accept that being big doesn't mean I like violence. And it doesn't mean I want to risk death for glory. I think I'll pass.

The TV screen in the square is broadcasting a recap of today's completed Reapings. When I arrived, they had started at three, where two tributes who seemed to know each other well were picked. Four produced an interesting looking Career with dark skin and hair that could probably be cut off and turned into a whip. Five had an average girl who giggled and waved on stage, and an average boy who looked terrified. The screen cut back to Capitol announcers and clips from previous Games. I watch a scrawny girl hand over her poison berries to a clueless Career, who dies seconds later. A barely conscious boy is pushed into his own campfire. I turn away; nobody needs to witness that.

The Hunger Games. I hate them, but I understand the logic. If one rebellion sparked something as horrible as this, the Districts are much too afraid for another uprising. After all, what could be worse than the Hunger Games? I'm not sure, but we all know the Capitol would think of something. It seems they always do. The last Quarter Quell was proof enough of that.

I notice I haven't moved, and I'm still standing among the fifteen-year-olds. If the Peacekeepers catch me here, it won't be pretty. I'm about to move when a tall, agile-looking girl trips over the foot I just shifted. She catches her balance before she falls, and I smile apologetically at her. She scowls menacingly and stalks off toward her friends.

Question- Why is the girl glaring at me? Research- I'm tall and strong, so I apparently _must_ be violent. Hypothesis- This girl thinks I want to kill her for tripping on me. Experiment- To be conducted. Conclusion- Science can't solve everything.

The mayor gives the most monotonous speech of any of the District mayors. But hey, as scientists, we're more lecturers than storytellers. A scientist with an interesting voice would screw with the balance of society as we know it. He's followed in his speech by a new escort, who introduces himself as Slithys. Well actually, as 'Ssssslithysssssss'. I look closer and see he has scales. Yes, _scales_, all over his body. I will never understand the Capitol, but I'm not surprised.

"Happy Hunger Gamessss." The hissing grated on my ears. I hope it won't last long. "We draw from girlsssss ball firsssst, yesss?" He smiled at all of us. Fangs too huh? Might as well go all out.

"Our girl tribute isssss, Zara Addissson!" The confrontational girl I met earlier pushes past everyone to stand on the stage. She slaps away the escort's hand, and I chuckle while everyone else gasps. The girl's got spunk.

"Now, we pick from the boyssss," he says. I wonder who the poor boy will be. Our District has the worst luck. We've had twelve-year-old boys chosen for the past five years. And I'm still wondering whether one of those five might have been saved by me.

"Sssssten Lockney?" At least I broke the tradition. I ascend to the stage and stand there. I see the mothers who have lost their sons smiling, as if they think it's my turn to die. I won't fight if I don't have too, so I'm going to die. I'm scared, but so is everyone.

We shake hands, but my smile is returned with a glare, and my handshake with a hostile squeeze. No allies here. None in the visiting room either, where nobody comes to see me. Dad comes in, but since all he does is smile and ramble about karma, I don't think he counts. The unused minutes give me time to think, and I run through the scientific method. For some reason, this has guided my life for seventeen years, and I find comfort in something familiar that I can apply even to this. I need something to hold onto when everything else is wrong with the world.

Question- How long will I last in the Games? Research- District Six hasn't had a winner since the year I was born. Hypothesis- I will die in the Bloodbath. Experiment- About a week from now.

Maybe, just maybe, I can bring myself to fight. If I use my strength I would be unstoppable, outside the Careers. I could come back; I could have something to live for. I could have a house, money, and start my life over without my father. The idea has its appeal.

Conclusion- Maybe I can win this thing.

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**I cannot even begin to describe** **how much fun it was to write these guys. I love all my tributes, and I'll hate to see any of them go. **

**Also, there will be a very crazy twist for one of our tributes in the next Chapter, making District Seven one of the most interesting this year. I might be inspired to reveal it faster if I get reviews. -dramatic sigh- If only there were a Review button below this sentence.**


	7. District Seven Reaping Willow and Joe

**AN: **Early update! I'm going to Canada over Spring Break next week, and won't have access to a computer until April 1. For this reason, I'm trying to update as many times as possible before I leave Saturday.

Also, thanks for the reviews! I believe I got a record 3 on the last chapter. But I still love you guys, even when you don't review, because I'm usually an anonymous reader myself.

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**Willow Foster- 16, District 7**

The Fosters (my family) have a Hunger Games legacy. Not in the good way. It started with My great-grandmother's brother. He went in at the age of twelve, in the first games, and was slaughtered. Later, one of her daughters was picked at the age of 18 and died. Then a son, at age 13 the next year. Her last son lived to be my grandfather- my mother's father. My mother was the youngest child, and lost two of her three older brothers before she a teenager. One to the Games, and one to an accident. She entered the Hunger Games at the age of 17, when she was eight and a half months pregnant with me. My father was devastated and committed suicide the next day, afraid he would never see his girlfriend or his child alive again. At first, the Capitol didn't care. They didn't care about anything. My mom got a one in training, and cried the whole three minute interview, hugging her stomach. She was laughed at by the other tributes, and written off as dead from the second her name was drawn.

She was raised up on a platform into a lush forest arena. She ran as best she could, not trying to grab supplies. She knew I was going to be born soon, and wanted to last long enough that I would be. Living in District Seven, she knew a bit about plants. My mom hid and lived off the land and sponsor sympathy gifts until she gave birth to me, a week in a half into the Games, with only six competitors left. And she died. An unlikely ally, the Girl from District Two, helped her with the birth, and then slit her throat. It was vicious, but I can't really blame her. After all, it is the Hunger Games. Inexplicably, she cared for me, and when the girl from District Two left the arena as victor, I left with her, and was returned to my home District. I don't know why they let me go. Maybe because I wasn't tribute. I guess I'll never know the reasoning behind the Capitol's one act of mercy. If it's mercy to live the way I do, knowing all this.

My Mom and Dad were buried beside each other in the District cemetery. My story was kept silent. I was edited out of the recaps, the victor video, everything. Nobody knew me, outside the district. Anyone who remembered the pregnant girl from District Seven assumed I died with her. Maybe the District Two victor still knew I was alive, but no one else. I was raised by my grandmother, and never knew the story of my past until after I turned twelve. They feared for me, and have for four years, with good reason Maybe I'm not meant to go into the Games again. Maybe nobody is meant to go through that kind of Hell twice. It makes me hopeful, if only for a moment. But almost my entire family has competed in the Games, and technically, I haven't done that yet.

I may be unlucky, but I'm not stupid. I know the family tradition, and I've done everything I can to protect myself. I work extra hours so I don't have to take out tesserae. I train too. I run whenever I can, throw axes given to us for taking down trees, and keep my eyes and ears open for any survival information. I feel like I'm as prepared for the games as someone from my District can be. But I still hope I'm not chosen. I've got my grandparents to take care of, and Henri, the little boy we adopted off the street last year. He's only eight. I'm not worried about his ever going into the Games. After all, he's not a Foster. But if _I_ go in, and don't come out, who will feed them? Henri would need tesserae when he got old enough. I can't let that happen.

Henri, Gramma and Grandpa are still asleep when I wake up. It's two hours to go until the Reaping, so I go ahead and wake them up. Gramma and Grandpa especially need time to get completely ready. I wake them first, and while their getting out of bed, I go back to my room to wake up Henri. He's sleeping peacefully. I'm glad we took him in. He's the most wonderful child I've ever met. I have nightmares about him being chosen for the Games, but the odds are in his favor. I'll always take care of him. I shake him awake, and he smiles up at me before remembering what day it is.

"Willow."

"Henri," I say with a grin.

"I had a dream last night," he said, biting his lip, just like I do when I'm nervous.

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter." Henri can be like that sometimes, giving evasive answers. He's not always very clear, but he's sweet. "When's breakfast, Will?"

"I'm making it now," I say, ruffling his dark hair. "Be patient!" I've managed to scrape together a kind of brownish oatmeal, and sprinkle it with cinnamon I bought for today. By this time, Gramma, Grandpa and Henri have come into the kitchen. I dole out the food into four equal portions, giving a bit extra to Henri. It's good, better than I expected.

After breakfast, It's time to get ready. Henri gets dressed himself, and I have to help him smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt and straighten the buttons. I tell him to wait in the kitchen, and not to touch the TV. I'm going to protect him from the Games to any extent I can. All he knows about them is that every year, two kids leave, and usually, none come back. I get ready too, and then check my appearance in our old mirror. The girl looking back at me has my too-frizzy brown hair, the chocolate brown eyes shared by most of District Seven, and wears my Grandmother's last Reaping dress. A big crack runs down her tanned face. The crack isn't mine; it belongs to the mirror, but everything else…. Well, that's me. I don't like the way I look, but Henri says I'm the prettiest girl in the world, and I can live with that.

We walk to the square, and I hug Henri and my grandparent goodbye for the time being. I make my way through crowds of younger kids. I don't want to be picked, but if I'm not, one of these terrified kids will be. It's a lose-lose situation, really. I come into the sixteens, and several people greet me. I greet them in return. Some of these kids are my friends, some aren't. I sit down in a group of my friends, between Tad and Liat. Liat is worried about her boyfriend, Joe Calloway. All she talks about when she does talk is him. It's his last year in the Reaping, and to hear her, you'd think they plan to get married as soon as he turns 19 and can have a "real" job. I'm pretty sure he wants to be a Peacekeeper. I wish him luck with being hated on principle by his Districtmates for the rest of his life.

Our Mayor, Mayor Byll gives a speech, and a trembling twelve year old struggles to read the treaty of treason out loud. It's a tradition that the valedictorian of the twelve year old class reads the treaty. It's always painful to watch, because the kids are scared out of their wits. Tad had to do it when he was twelve, and passed out.

Next our escort, Rumarie walks up on stage. "Now, I know the Districts are wrong, but luckily, we have the Hunger Games every year to allow them to repent!" With that start, I know this is just going to be a long lecture about how awful we are. I tune out until the last line. "…and may peace and love reign in the Capitol for all time!" Not likely.

"And now, we will pick the female tribute who will represent District Seven!" I bite my lip, hoping it's someone else. "Willow Foster!" Well, it's not like we didn't all see it coming. I head for the stage rather calmly. After all, I can win this, I'm prepared. But I shouldn't be. So I start to cry, and by the time I'm on stage, I make sure the tears and sniffles are visible. I don't want to miss anything, so I sob quietly.

"And our male tribute," says Rumarie, looking disdainfully at me, "is Joseph Calloway!" I feel bad for Liat, who's going to lose her boyfriend. He's strong, and attractive. He has curly blonde hair, but still has the chocolate brown eyes of the District. He's a good catch, but he's going to die, because I have to live. We shake hands, and I try to wipe my tears with my sleeve. I need to look weak. I think I'm doing a good job. I cry all the way to the visiting rooms. And then, I stop.

Gramma, Grandpa, and Henri come in, and the adults wish me luck while I hold Henri. My grandparents turn to go when the peacekeepers come in, but Henri wipes his eyes and tugs my sleeve.

"Willow, 'member my dream last night?" he says. I smile at him and nod. "You came back, and had lots of cake for me." I laugh and ruffle his hair again before he leaves.

Next to visit are my friends. A bunch come in and tell me the usual stuff, 'come back soon', 'good luck,' etc. Last is Liat, and I can tell she's been crying.

"Don't kill Joe," she begs me. I want to promise her I won't, but the Hunger Games are a bad place for promises.

"I won't unless I have to." She cries again and leaves without another word. I'm upset, but I understand.

Besides, I need to focus. I'm Willow Foster, the 'Career' from District Seven. I'm going to break the Foster losing streak once and for all. After all, I've trained for it.

* * *

**Joseph Calloway- 18, District 7**

I shouldn't be worried about being sent to die today. See, my parents have _money_. I don't know how, but our family's managed to stay in wealth since the rebellion. That's why I only have seven entries in the Reaping ball this year. It's my last year too. I know it would be cruel irony for someone so close to happiness have it taken away, but that's what these Games do, see? So I'm on my guard. I've spent my life cutting down trees, but I want something more. When I was little, I would read books from before Panem. I always wanted to be a soldier. See, it sounded fun, and exciting. It's not that I wanted to kill. I never wanted that. But soldiers got to use weapons and camp outside and had interesting lives. They didn't cut down trees all day. It took me about three seconds to realize the closest thing we Districts have to soldiers is the Peacekeeper Force. So, since I could read, I've had my heart set on being a Peacekeeper.

See, that's why I hope I'm not chosen to die today. In a month, I will be nineteen, and I can start training to be a Peacekeeper. They won't train eighteen-year-olds, afraid of giving them a possible advantage in the Games. Since we're not the Capitol's pets like the upper Districts, they would probably punish us if they heard we were training kids to fight. That hasn't stopped them from having a huge emphasis on athletics at our school. I run track, wrestle, used to play football, and can throw a shot put further than anyone at my school. You see, the Peacekeepers will only pick one kid from each year to train, if that. I need them to notice _me_.

Then, there's Liat. Short of my career-to-be, Liat is the most important thing in my life. I love her, but she's two years younger than me. Normally, you'd think her parents would disapprove, but her mom likes me. I think she likes my money more than me, her mom I mean, but at least she tolerates her beloved daughter dating me. As for Liat's father, I don't know if I've ever met him or not. See, the official story is he's dead, but I suspect he's, well, not. Stuff like that happens in our District all the time though, so I'll try not to question it. I'm more worried about Liat being chosen than me. See, her mother sells trinkets in the District Square, but she still gets tesserae for her and her mother, and wouldn't let me get it for her. She's sweet and quiet, but I know she could outlast the competition. I'm just afraid of- _No, stop it_. I need to think positively, see?

I step out of the shower, where I've been thinking. I love having a shower in our house. It's a lot nicer than what most families have. I guess I'm just lucky. I put on my new clothes for this year's Reaping. They're the same size as last year's, which is upsetting. I've only grown an inch, maybe less in the past year. Anyway, it looks nice. Nicer than the usual District Seven anyway. See, our District doesn't have much cause to be formal, just the Reaping. I'm too nervous about the Reaping to be hungry, so I wait for my parents to get ready. My older brother, Thomas, moved out last year, so it's just the three of us now.

I watch some re-caps of the Games. It's interesting. Horrible, of course, but interesting. I wonder why our society gets so much out of violence. When Mom and Dad come down the stairs, I turn off the TV.

"Aren't you having breakfast?" asks my Dad.

"Nope. I'm not hungry, see? I'm too nervous to eat." Dad nods.

"Well, you can go off to the square to socialize, if you'd like." This time, I nod.

When I leave the house behind, I only have to walk a block to the square. Liat's mom, Ms. Mary, is trying to sell some jewelry to a few Peacekeepers, with no success. I look at my grandfather's old watch and see that it's still 45 minutes until the Reaping. I'm about to find Liat when I feel a hand grasp my arm. I turn around.

"Emile!" I say. "It's been awhile, see?"

"Yes. It has been a long time since we have seen each other, Joe." Emile is my best friend, even though he's a few years older than me. Now that he's not a school, we don't get to see each other as much. "I was hoping to find you here today. Are you looking for Liat?"

"Yeah, see, I wanted to wish her luck before the ceremony. You seen her?" I ask. Emile's my friend, but he doesn't have a chance of being chosen to die today. Liat and I do, and I want to share my fear with _her_. Emile nods, as though he understands.

"I think she went to the sixteen-year-old pen," he says, pointing. I smile and walk over there. Sure enough, I see Liat almost immediately. Her black hair is in two braids, and her back is to me.

I hug Liat from behind and she giggles. "Joe!"

"Hey Liat," I say with a smile. "Happy Hunger Games."

She works her way out of my grip. "Don't say that." I'm about to ask why when she says, "It's horrible, those kids." She sniffles.

"Don't cry, love. See, I'm almost through, and you will be too before you know it. Then we can get married." She chuckles.

"I'm sixteen, Joe. I'm too young to think about marriage." But I'm dead serious. As soon as she turns 19, if she still loves me, I intend to marry Liat. We talk until the section of sixteens fills up. I walk to my own section, but the only seat left is in the front row. Oh well. I take a seat just on time. Mayor Byll, a stocky man, is giving us a speech, but you can tell he'd rather be anywhere else. The top twelve year old in his class reads the treaty of treason aloud, turning a pale white as he does. See, the twelve year olds are scared enough already, and this one has to read the death sentence. Poor kid. Then I sit and listen politely while some escort with crazy hair criticizes the fact that we District citizens even breathe.

"…and may peace and love reign in the Capitol for all time!" Peace in the Capitol, maybe. Love for the Capitol? Please, don't make me laugh during the Reaping.

"And now, we will pick the female tribute who will represent District Seven!" _Please, please, if there is a God, please don't let it be Liat!_ "Willow Foster!" I know her. She's a friend of Liat's. I hope she doesn't die in the arena, but her chances don't look good. Halfway to the stage, she bursts into tears, and remains in that state until the male tribute's name is called.

"Our male tribute is Joseph Calloway!" And I'm going to die. I'm going to _die_. _I'm_ going to _die_. Me, Joe Calloway. My life is over. Soon I'll just be remembered as a name on television, a gruesome death, and another nameless victim of tyranny. I walk to the stage. Maybe I can survive this. If I come out of this alive, Liat will never need tesserae again. She could live with me in the Victor's Village. But she won't because I'm going to _die_. I'm going to leave Liat, even though I promised I never would. I see the previously sobbing Willow eyeing me. She seems pretty composed for the crying weakling I saw a moment ago. Hmm. We shake hands, and I'm led away to the visiting rooms.

As expected, Liat takes up all my visiting time. Even my parents are limited to the five minutes Liat left for them. I wanted more time with my parents, but I didn't have the heart to make Liat go. After my parents, Emile, and Thomas give the quickest goodbyes they can before the Peacekeepers tell them it's time to go. I hug the family, and even Emile. It's time to go now. I know I might not survive. In fact, the chances are really good that I'll never see the District again. But see, maybe being in the arena will be like being a soldier. I'll get to fight, and have adventures. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be a good enough soldier to win the battle for District Seven.

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**Okay, I understand that Willow's story is unrealistic. It is about 99% impossible. And that's what makes her unique to me. The idea for her history wouldn't leave me alone. Also, extra super brownie points to anyone who can guess where most of the names from Joe's part of chapter came from.**


	8. District Eight Reaping Calie and Ash

First off, I miss Canada, but it's good to be back. I would like to tell you guys now that I will post a table of sorts at the end of the Reapings. In theory, it will have each character's name, District, age, gender, District Industry, and later, their training score. That should make things easier. And I'll mark off each character as they die. -sniffle-

Okay guys. It's brownie point time!!! -cool sound effect-

SUPER MEGA BROWNIE POINTS TO:

Operation T.A.C.K.L.E.H.U.G.- For seeing South Pacific as the source of my names. I was a techie for the school production of South Pacific, which we did the day before I wrote that chapter. Never try to name characters after a straight week of rehearsing and preforming a musical.

Penelope Wendy Bing- For reviewing every chapter and putting up with the dialect I'm about to throw at her this chapter.

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**Calie Bennett- 12, District 8**

I'm awake for about two seconds when I 'member I'm not at home anymore. I ain't got a home to go back to anymore. If I did, maybe I'd be happier. But ever since that Day, when the peacekeepers threw me outta my plague-infested house and graciously informed me that I'd nowhere to live anymore, I've been stuck and I can't get out. I've tried an' tried, but nothin' goes right. They sent me to the community home, but I ran off. The kids there were awful and mean and we had nothing to eat. 'Sides, you get turned out once you turn sixteen anyway, so I figure eight more years of practice, or dying eight years earlier, it's really not much different, is it?

I figure it'll be an eight year change anyway, since I think I'm about twelve now, making the midway point between being thrown out o' my home and out o' the orphanage. That's what class I'm in up at the school, whenever I go. They're not too picky whether I'm there or not. They ain't too fond of me, I think. Not that anyone should be. I'm just a little street kid what's lived off of sympathy and a factory job for four years. Just lucky I 'avent been killed yet, you would say. That's me. _Always _lucky.

_Lucky_ my parents and little sister died of the plague. _Lucky_ the district offered me a community home to live in. _Lucky_ I have the wonderful Capitol looking out for me. Just so darn _lucky_ I was born in District 8, where I 'ave to risk my life crawling around in machines for a group of people who don't even care.

'Course, it's not so bad. It's been close a few times, but I'm still not dead. And I don't need tesserae, unlike most people who actually 'ave families. I'm not happy with my life, but maybe I can make it better. I don't know though. I don't know anything. All I really want is to live in District Four, because I love the water. But it can't happen and I know it can't happen, but I just can't help it- I want it so bad!

There's not much t' do today. It's Reaping Day, an' all the shops seem to be closed. I probably should've thought about that yesterday and went ahead and bought some breakfast, but there's nothing to be done about it now. I figure I'll just go ahead to the square. I've got some kind of false hope inside me that maybe… maybe since I got no home, I'm not technically registered a citizen of the District. Maybe, I can escape the risk of the Hunger Games if nobody knows I exist. It's a good idea, an' it makes me feel better like ideas do. I stand in the shadow of one of the shops that's borderin' the square and I don't have much else to do so I focus on the smudgy television screen mounted on a tower above the stage. The Reapings are on.

I run my fingers through my knotted, dirt filled, blonde hair and try hard to keep from lookin' at the screen, but I can't. So it goes through all the Reapings right in front of my poor eyes. The crying girls from 3 and 7 stand out, and the tiny redhead from 1, and the boy from 6 who looks really scared, but I think he's handsome. When the Reapings are shown, they cut right into old Games clips. I close my eyes, 'cause I'm afraid seeing the blood will make me sick. I've 'eard of that happening to people before, and I don't know if it'll happen to me or not. Best not test it. More people are starting to arrive, but nobody really sees me. There's a few other street kids who catch my eye and nod curtly. We're competitors in the business, we street kids, always fighting for food and all, but we're still comrades in a deep, inner sort of way. I guess.

I still dunno where I need to be. Like I said, I'm twelve I think, but I don't even know if the peacekeepers know I exist. They may've written me off as dead like the rest of my family. If on'y I could be that lucky, I'd almost think the nights of starving an' sleeping in the cold were worth it. Because if I were that lucky, I could _survive_. Somewhat confidently, I take a seat amongst the Twelves. They avoid me, mostly. They probably think I'd pick their pocket. I don't want to, I ain't a born criminal, but they're smart all the same. Most of us street kid would rob 'em blind before they knew what was happening. Hmm. Our mayor's on stage now.

He keeps it short, he does, and I think his speech is always under a minute. Something about the honor of the Hunger Games that's no more'n a sentence. Good thing, too. I haven't been to a Reaping since That Day. They're more tense than I remember. Then the escort talks in his squeaky Capitol accent. I decide right off that I don't like him. Why should I? He's just one of those rich snobs who eats the food that I don't. Sure he comes from the Capitol, but that ain't too different really. In fact, it makes 'im worse. Cause he's a rich snob who's hated by the rich snobs of our District.

"Aaaaaaand now, oooour female tribute… of… District 8, who will represent this District in the Hunger Games…"

"Oh just stuff it and get on with it," I whisper. I haven't got the patience for this. I should be scavenging for food, like always. It's hard to find here as it is, but with this _ceremony_ in the way of my time, I'll be lucky t' get anything t' eat today.

Finally 'e calls the name. I recognize it somehow. Everyone's looking around, confused, like no one knows the person who's been called. Then, one head turns to the scrappy ragged girl from the streets. Then another. Eyes light up in acknowledging. Oh. It's me. Calie Bennett. I didn't know the name at first, 'cause I guess he pronounced it wrong.

"Kaylee Bennett?" _It's Cally,_ I think. I grit my teeth and walk up to the stage. I'm sobbin' inside though. I'm not brave at all. Not brave enough to fight, an' certainly not brave enough to _die_. I'm really just a peaceful coward at best. I'm gonna die. But I can't. I'm Calie Bennett. A living, breathing, thinking Calie Bennett. It can't just _end. _I can't just stop _being_. I've found my way to t' stage and there I stand now, lookin' out and over a crowd that hasn't once called me anything but a filthy thief. They'll be glad to see me go, I'd bet.

"There you are Kaylee!" says the escort.

"It's pronounced Cally," I say back wearily. He just narrows his eyes at me an' picks the boy tribute out from the ball.

"Our male representative, in the 57th Hunger Games, is none other than, the brave, the dashing, Mr. Ash Oken!"

Ash Oken is all but brave an' dashing. He has a tangled mass of brown hair that looks like somethin' should be nesting in it. His dark eyes flash when they see me. He's not particularly attractive. Average, pale, and freckly, he is. I notice his hands are covered in paint, an' it flakes off on me when we shake hands. Red. Like the blood we'll both be covered in soon.

"Goodbye District 8," I whisper it to nobody as they take us away. I think I hear an answer, but I ain't sure. It was probably just the wind.

I'm in the visiting room alone for however long. I don't much mind though, as I'm used to being left by myself. Now I can cry, but I can't. The tears won't come now. So I just sit and think about death. Then it's done. I'm on the train with the outside rushing past me. Off to the Capitol. Least I won't look like a street urchin anymore. Probably.

**Ash Oken- 14, Distar. rict 8**

I couldn't sleep last night, so, as usual, I decided to draw. My drawing is huge, and takes up an entire large paper. But it's still early, so I have time to paint it too. While I was drawing, I wasn't sure what it was. But now I know. It's Flint. It's the reason I couldn't sleep last night. My painting is of the Hunger Games.

_And our male tribute is… Flint Ocotillo. He walks to the stage cautiously, hoping someone will take his place. I almost do. My best friend. He can't go, not so young. Thirteen… a thirteen year old has never won before. Flint could, maybe. He's strong, but we don't have any weapon training here. Or plants. When we live surrounded by desert, it's the only climate that my best friend could possibly survive. May the odds be ever in his favor. Flint Ocotillo, District 8._

The arena was a frozen wasteland. No place for a boy from District 8. In my picture, he crouches over a kill, his green eyes filled with tears of pain and fear. I had never seen Flint cry before that. Never. The girl was from District 3, and she was thirteen too. Her name was Esmeralda Stevens. She had long black hair and green eyes. She and Flint could have been twins. I detail everything the best that I can.

_His knife, covered in the blood of an opponent, he raises in the air above her throat. She's crying._

"_Please. Please District 8…"_

_Flint's hand begins to shake, whether from cold or fear I don't know. _

"_Quickly!" Flint thinks she's talking about her death. "Behind-"_

_Two knives come down at once. Flint's, and the Career's behind him. A cannon goes off for Esmeralda. She covered in blood belonging both to her and my best friend. Flint barely has time to scream before the Career's knife strikes again. And this time, it doesn't strike his shoulder. One more cannon goes off as Flint's body falls slumped over that of the girl. His killer is the Girl from Four. Her name was Delphina Bracken. Someone in District Three hates Flint. And suddenly, I hate someone too. A powerful raging hate I've never felt before. I want to kill Delphina Bracken. _

_Five days later, the boy from District One beats me to it. And he wins. And it's all over, they say. No more suffering for another year. But they would be wrong. For me, it will never be over. I will never recover. Not even Delphina's death made it better. That's when I realized nothing would. It will never be the same._

The nightmares kept me awake, and so it's the nightmares that I paint. The last thing I fill in on the painting is the blood on Flint's knife. In reality, it had been darker, somewhat dried, but I brighten the color a bit. I make the blood fresher, the scene harsher. I fall asleep after the last stroke, and the nightmares don't come again.

Unfortunately, the Reaping does. I'm woken up by my mother, and I dress groggily. Paint still stains my hands red, but I don't have time to wash. Oh well. I haven't eaten, but I can't. I'm not hungry. I feel like food would make me sick.

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat honey?" asks my Mom. I shake my head. She seems to understand. My Dad has already left for the square with my two older siblings, so it's my Mom who walks with me. Well, I say with me, really, I trail behind her and look at the ground, and talk to no one. We reach the square before long, and I drift to sit with the other fourteen-year-olds. It'd not long before Gen comes up and grabs my shoulder. I flinch and jerk away.

"What's wrong with you, man?" he asks. Maybe it was the circles under my eyes that tipped him off. Or maybe the shivering, or the overall ragged look. Or maybe the fact that I reacted like I'd been shot when he touched me.

"The Reaping," I choke out. "Flint…"

"Come on, Ash, It's all right. Believe me, he's likely a good bit happier than we are now." He reaches out to try and comfort me.

"Everyone is," I say miserably, turning from Gen.

"Hey!" He grips my arm now, and forces me to turn to him. "Flint was my best friend too. Never forget that. He wouldn't want you down here fighting over his death. It's fine to be upset, but _don't you dare_ shut me out like I don't know what you're going through."

"It's just-" bad timing, suddenly the mayor beings to speak. It's not a speech, just a sentence or two. But he's soon replaced by our escort, whose name I still haven't bothered to learn. I wonder who he will be sending off to die this year. Who will be affected? _Maybe you_, says my mind. _Eighteen entries, Ashie. Eighteen's a pretty nice number, don't you think?_

"Aaaaaaand now, oooour female tribute… of… District 8, who will represent this District in the Hunger Games…" Our escort sure is a drama queen. He's dragging out the torture for all us poor kids, especially the girls.

"Kaylee Bennett!" chirps the escort. Hmm. I've never heard of Kaylee. For a while, nothing happens. Then, after a second call, a younger girl steps out of the twelve-year-old enclosure and onto the stage. She looks like she hasn't bathed in weeks, and hasn't eaten in just as long. Maybe she's homeless or something. She's not crying too, which is unusual of our tributes.

"There you are, Kaylee!" he bubbles to the girl.

"It's pronounced Cally," She corrects him. He doesn't take well to that, and my heart drops through the floor as he snatches the first name in the boy's bowl.

"Our male representative, in the 57th Hunger Games, is none other than, the brave, the dashing, Mr. Ash Oken!"

I'm not brave, and I'm _certainly _not dashing. But I walk to the stage anyway. It's not like I wasn't expecting this. Maybe I can win for Flint. For both of us. Maybe someone will paint my victory. Or my death. Either way, maybe I'll at least gain some form of immortality.

When I shake hands with Calie, the red paint still on my hands begins to flake off. It's blood red, just like I had chosen for the knife. I guess it's foreshadowing. I'm going to need to get used to this color soon. Too soon for my liking.

In the visiting room, my parents, brother and sister do the usual family thing. They cry, tell me how much they love me, how much they believe in me, and that they'll be preparing the house for my victory celebration. Yeah right.

Then Gen, who's almost as upsetting, though he is honest.

"I'm going to miss you, Ash," he says. "You're a great guy. I just want you to know, in the arena, it doesn't matter what happens as long as you don't lose yourself, okay?" I nod dumbly, while he presses a stub into my hand.

"I ran back and grabbed your lucky pencil from your room, I hope you don't mind. It's an unorthodox district token, but I figured you might want it."

"Thanks!" I'm stunned by his remembrance, his care, his… everything. I didn't know I had such a good friend who would care even after I shut him out for the better part of a year. "I'll do my best."

"My eyes won't leave the screen. Good luck!" he says, and then vanishes from the room.

My grip tightens around my lucky pencil as I pass the cameras to the train. In the arena, I won't lose myself. I think that will make me the real winner. But can I win in my mind and win the Games?

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**Thanks for reading :)**


	9. District Nine Reaping Alana and Fabian

**AN: **Okay. This should have been up a week ago. But halfway through my writing this chapter, we finally found the kittens my cat had a few weeks ago. Have you ever seen a two week old cat? They're distracting. And that's why this chapter is late. I apologize for being overwhelmed by the cuteness, and I shall do my best to get District 10 up very soon.

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Alana Lakin- 17, District 9

I make sure to get up early every Reaping Day, so I can make sure I look perfect. You see, Reaping Day is our excuse to dress up and show off to the boys of District Nine. The rest of the year, they look like dirty hunters. Most of them are, but they all clean up nicely. _I_ don't have to hunt, because my family owns a tailor shop in town. So I also get _all_ the best clothes. I deserve them though. A lot of people here are rotten to the core. They're mean and nasty and unsanitary. Worst of all, they hate me. I don't understand why, since there's nothing about me to be disliked. My boyfriend tells me so every day. Michael tells me that every day too. My boyfriend is okay, but _Michael_. The kid is incredible. He'll be replacing my boyfriend any day now. I hope Kevin doesn't feel too bad. After all, it's hard to meet my standards. I'm sure he'll find someone else.

Anyway, I plan to ask Michael out at the Reaping, then I'll tell Kevin. After I shower, I pick out the most lovely dress. It's a soft rose-colored velvet dress that comes just above my knees and is as low cut as I can get away with. It has black flower details all across the bottom and one on each sleeve. It's absolutely perfect. No boy could refuse me while I'm wearing this. Next is makeup. I'm one of the only girls in the District who can afford it, so even though I don't need it, I might as well use it. Then I attend my hair. I have really short hair, so it doesn't irritate me by getting in my eyes. I straighten it, but that's about all I can do. My hair is a very boring shade of brown, but I'm sure everything else about me covers for it. I pick out a black headband with a flower on it. I look flawless, as usual.

I head into the living room now. No need for breakfast this morning, since if I eat too much I'll get fat. But Mom will have a fit if I don't eat. I nibble a few bites off the toast and melted cheese and throw out the rest. Then I go ahead and get some extra schoolwork done. Not that I want to, but I need to stay on my teacher's good side just in case. Once that's done, I watch the Reapings of the other districts. Ugh.

The District One career is trying too hard to be pretty, and the boy is scrawny. In District Two, the twins think too much of themselves. What idiot volunteers to kill their sibling? _I_ would never kill any of _my_ three siblings. The District Tree girl is ugly. She's tiny and plain. But she's smiling. How could someone so average looking ever be happy? The boy though, he's not bad. He's tall, and looks strong. If he lived in our District… Hmm. He makes the girl cry. It's obvious why, but he's not good enough for him. District Four, careers again, a tough-looking but stunned girl, and a tall boy with dreadlocks who volunteers. I bet he wins. District Five produces a bubbly girl who'll die the first day and a boy who looks like he's about to pass out. From Six, an angry looking girl like most of the girls here, and a huuuuge boy. He's totally ugly. District Seven is another girl. She's kinda pretty, but nothing like me. The boy is _hot_. Like, really hot. And then two more losers from District Eight- a homeless girl and an average boy. We're next.

I head to the square, but watching the other Districts held me up. I'll just have to ask Michael out after the Reaping. The mayor gives a speech about how glorious the Capitol is. They are too. I wish I could live there, with even the finest clothes, among people who aren't inferior to me. Like this woman, with beautiful gold eyes who looks like she's covered in droplets of water.

"Hello District Nine! I'm Dewdrop and I'm once again the escort for District Nine!" Everyone claps politely. "Let's draw our female tribute!" I know it won't be me or my sister, because we have no tesserae. It's not us. It's Rani Hermman. I remember her. She's the little mentally ill kid who died in a hunting accident a few months back. Poor kid, but better her die that way than in the Games. I guess. Everyone just looks down at their feet until the mayor whisper to Dewdrop that Rani is dead. She looks grave, then goes back to smiling.

"It seems that Rani Hermman is unable to compete this year!" _Obviously_. "So, our female tribute for this year will be Alana Lakin!" I'm already on the stage before I realize what's happening. I'm going into the Games! This is terrible! I'll be okay though, because I'm pretty and strong. I can make an alliance with any boy and turn on them in the end. In fact, he'll probably kill himself, out of love for me. I can survive the Games without getting my hands dirty at all.

If I can stay pretty in the arena. It's going to be so gross. I'm still shocked that my name was called, over all those kids with loads of entries.

"Now we'll pick our male tribute for District 9." She dramatically draws a slip from the ball. "Harry Hermman! Is he still alive and well?" He is, but he just scowls angrily at everyone. It's not _our _fault his family's poor and his sister's dead. So why's he so unhappy about it? But he doesn't last long. Some kid who looks like he's seen a ghost volunteers. I know him! He's the one who killed Rani Hermman. I guess that's justice for you. He must be awful with a bow, to kill a girl instead of an animal. That or blind.

The rest of the Reaping passes in a blur. None of my many friends come to see me off. They must know I'll be back before long. My parents and siblings come to tell me goodbye though, if only for a little while. I'll miss them while I'm away, I guess.

But like I said. I won't be gone long. The way I see it, the Games will be over in a week tops. I'll be just like that girl Helen we read about at school. They'll start a war over me, and there will only me one survivor. Me. As usual.

Fabian Kordell- 15, District 9

Ten Months Earlier

_I'm hunting. I love to hunt. The fresh air, the sound of the trees, the smooth wood of my bow that has molded itself perfectly to my hand over the years, all of it fills my senses. I'm alone. We all have hunting partners, but I don't know where Tara is. She and I usually end up separated, only meeting back to report together to the peacekeepers. It's not that I don't like her-even though she can be really pushy, she's okay, I guess, but when I hunt, I hunt _alone_. _

_I tread as silently as I can manage through the woods. The floor is littered with brown leaves, making it difficult to. That's another reason not to have a partner. Twice the noise is half the game. I remember being twelve, and Tara and I would tromp through the woods, gossiping and arguing with each other. The scars still haven't faded from when the peacekeepers beat me for falling short of my quota. I had to trick Tara into taking some of mine so she would make hers, because I felt guilty. After that year, we hunted alone. _

_There's a rustle in the bushes, some twenty meters away. I freeze. Again, I hear the bushes rustle, and this time, a branch moves. Thoughtlessly, I pull an arrow from my quiver and take aim. My arrow points at the small bush. I draw back the string, pause a moment, breathe in, and release. The shot is perfect. I run to the bush to collect my kill. I step behind it and look down at the creature whose life will provide me with food. But it's no creature that I see. It's little Rani Hermman. _Oh God, no!No!_ Rani is the sweetest little girl I've ever seen. She's twelve years old, with four siblings: three older brothers and a baby sister. She's sweet and kind in all she does, but she's not quite right in the head. I don't know how she got into the hunters' territory, but she did. And now she's past hope. Rani Hermman is dead, my arrow through her neck. My hands grasping her shoulders. My grey eyes staring into her unseeing brown ones. They don't find me until after the sun has set. I'm sitting in the woods, and I'm crying, holding in my arms the body of little Rani Hermman. _

Reaping Day. Another day of guilt and despair. There was a trial of sorts, and they decided it was an accident. I wish I had died. I wish they had killed me, or done _something._ Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty if there had been a punishment. I tried once. When I was alone, in the woods, a week after the 'trial'. I had my hunting knife against my neck, carefully whispered my last goodbyes to the world. Tara stopped me by stumbling into my clearing at the wrong time. She hasn't left me alone since then. She's smart, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. There's no way for me to end this guilt without her interference. Anything I try to do, she can stop. She's got the peacekeepers watching me right close now too, the devils. And no one but the Capitol's more powerful than them. As Reaping Day remind us, the Capitol's more powerful than everyone.

Reaping Day! Oh glorious Reaping Day! Suddenly I'm struck with an idea. It's brilliant, really. I will volunteer for the Games. I killed Rani, so I can save the life of another to make up. And then when I die in the Games, maybe her family can stop pretending they've forgiven me. It'll take a load off their minds, I'll bet. The Games are the perfect choice for me. Either way, I'll have a fitting punishment for killing the little girl. Either I will die, or I will live with guilt worse than this for the rest of my life. I'll live with the nightmares and the pain, and then, finally, I will be satisfied with repaying my debt to the dead girl. Or I'll be dead myself. And no way in Hell can Tara stop me.

Finally the thing I deserve, I've found. The Games were originally devised as a punishment, so I figure I can't do much harm by putting them to their intended purpose. If the Capitol is going to kill 23 innocents each year, a guilty party in the mix won't change anything. In fact, the Games will be serving a purpose- rather than executing 23 children, the capitol will murder 22 and kill a criminal. Not a bad deal, I think. But I can't let my parents or anyone know. I can hear their voices in my head now. _Not Guilty, Not Guilty_. The voice is wrong. It's tempting me to save myself, but I can't let it win me over.

"_Goodbye, forest. Goodbye bow. Goodbye Mom, Dad, Uncle Jimmy, Uncle Tristian, and Aunt Yve. Goodbye Cousins, especially Oliver. I'll miss you. But I have to do this. I can't live with it anymore. I'm sorry. Goodbye animals, plants, rain, sun, snow. And goodbye Tara. You're the best hunting partner I could ever ask for. I hope you'll look after the family, and I know you'll move on eventually. You're all better off anyway…" I sigh and raise the knife. It glitters in the sun. I'm about to swing it down when I'm tackled to the ground._

"_Like Hell we are," growls Tara, wrestling the knife from my stunned grip. "Never think that Fabian." _

_I give a strangled sob. "Give me the knife."_

"_No."_

I get ready. We're not rich, so dressing up involves squeezing into a shirt that's a size too small, threadbare, and scratchy and pants of the same material. I let my parents walk me to the square, even though I'm fifteen. They're never going to see me again, so they might as well stay by me for now.

"Bye Mom, Bye Dad." I say, hugging them both.

"We'll see you after the Reaping," says my Mom. _That you will_.

I stand alone, ignoring the commotion around me. No one will want to associate with a murderer anyway. I'm too late to check out my competition- the Reapings have stopped showing and they've gone right into the Game re-caps. I see Tara coming my way and duck further into the crowd, seeking refuge from her. Soon enough though, the mayor begins his speech, and everyone sits down. I see Tara sitting a few rows up from me and to the left. Good.

The speech is stupid, all about the Capitol's glory. They have no glory. There is no glory in murder. I should know. Then the escort: a bubbly woman with gold eyes who appears to be covered in dewdrops. Come to think of it, I think her name is Dewdrop, but I really don't care. I'm too busy planning my death.

"Rani Hermman!" she sings out. _Oh God… Doesn't she _know_? _Everyone begins to whisper, and as expected nobody comes forward. No bright, cheerful, disabled child skips to the platform. We all stare at the stage, wondering what will happen next. Finally, the mayor gets up and taps the escorts shoulder. She goes ashen for a moment, then begins to smile again.

"Well! It seems that Rani Hermman is unable to compete this year!" _She's dead! Dead, you mad Capitol torturer! And it's my fault!_

"So, our female tribute for this year will be Alana Lakin!" There's the usual smattering of applause for a tribute as a short girl covered i who looks far from underfed takes her place. Her overly made-up face reflects astonishment. She knows what's coming, and it won't be pretty.

"Now we'll pick our male tribute for District 9." She ceremoniously pulls out a slip of paper, and unfolds it while holding it as though it were the Holy Grail of legend. I wonder vaguely whose life I'm going to save. "Harry Hermman! Is he still alive and well?" Oh Harry's alive, but certainly not well. He's eighteen with more tesserae than any of us dim witted hunters could hope to count, just to take care of all his siblings, so they won't have to increase their chances. And after taking Rani from him, I can give him his life back. Grim and ashen-faced, Harry dares the crowd to applaud his death with his flashing brown eyes. They're just like Rani's.

"Do we have any volunteers?"

"Yes." I say. Softly, but clearly. Then, a little louder. "I volunteer as the male tribute for District Nine." _I volunteer to die._ Heads turn in my direction, a few nodding satisfaction, a few horrified, and most confused. Why would starving little Fabian Kordell volunteer for the tall muscular Harry Hermman? He must be an idiot or a masochist. I figure I'm a little bit of both. I shake hands with Alana, and even bow. What the heck, right? But no, I shouldn't be enjoying this. They take us off and away to the holding rooms. My Mom and Dad don't come see me, I think they're too mad at me, and would rather remember the goodbye I gave them before the Reaping. When Tara comes in, she nearly slams the door off its hinges.

"WHAT IN THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING FABIAN!?" she roars, pushing me against the wall. "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" I stare blankly at her, gaping like I've heard a fish does when deprived of water.

"To... you?" I mumble incoherently. "Thought it'd be better, without the scummy murder around. Everyone thinks so."

"Dammit Fabian! You were never a murderer! It was an _accident_! You're _not _a killer, but now you'll have to be." Her face is red and she's crying tears of rage.

"Look, I…"

"Don't tell me what to think Fabian. And don't you dare justify this. You're going to _die_. This isn't some moral game of right and wrong. How could you do this to your parents? They love you, Fabian." She gives me a long, scrutinizing look. "And so did I." The door slams again, and just like that, Tara is gone. I'll never see her again. And she loved me. Even though I was a murderer, she loved me, and now I've lost her.

My fault. As usual. I can't wait to get into the arena, because whether I live or die, I'll finally make up for everything I've done.

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**Feel free to review. It's good for the soul. :)**


	10. District Ten Reaping Dea and Norman

**AN:** I would apologize for the late update, but a moth is really extreme. Damn finals. Also, I have news. So do you guys want the good or bad news first? How about the bad?

The bad news- I probably won't update for most of June, since I don't know if I'll have access to a computer.

The GOOD News- Except in the event of unforseen circumstances. All Reapings _will_ be done by June 1st. I pinky swear. I'm already halfway done with District 11. Also, this chapter is nicely formatted! Yay!

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**Dea Clark- 16, District 10**

I'm awoken by the chirping of birds outside my second floor window. I smile and get out of bed. Judging by the softly growing light, it's too early for the rest of the family to be up. Just because my father is the mayor of District Ten doesn't mean he's up with the sun like I am. Normally on a morning like this, I'd go for a walk, but today, it would be too depressing. It's too beautiful a day to send two children to die. Time to disappear. The imaginary world of the internet is filled with as much death and violence as the real one, thanks to the Capitol. But at least this violence is fake. That's all that matters, right? We have the virtual reality for it too, being rich as we are. The goggles, the motion sensors, everything. I turn on the virtual reality program, and I'm in the Game. I wonder if the Career Districts ever use it to train. It's not too terrible, the virtual part. I actually _enjoy_ taking out one Capitol person after the other. While I'm running through the arena, gripping a virtual spear, I see someone's avatar standing there, not moving. If it were real life, it would be dishonorable. But she's a higher level than I am, and I'd like the experience. My avatar, DeaorDie lets fly her spear, and District Three's MicraChipx falls to the ground. I hear footsteps behind me and shut off the game.

"Good morning, Father," I say with a smile.

"I wish it were, Dea," he says in a weary voice. I really can't respond to that. I just nod and begin to work on making him some breakfast. Ever since Mother died, I cook. Father isn't very good at it. Of course, he's only started a fire twice, and they were small ones. I decide to make some powdered doughnuts, traditional to our area. I cover the doughnuts with the powdered sugar mix. Then I meticulously drizzle honey in a zigzag pattern across the plate. It would almost be perfect, but for the blob that splattered on the edge of the plate. I wipe it down with a napkin, and straighten one of the doughnuts. It's ready.

We have to eat fairly quickly, because Father's got to be at the Reaping early. We don't talk much, just take small bites, trying in vain to prolong the time until two children are condemned to die. The TV is on though, and we see the earlier Reapings. I don't really care, but the name 'Micra' catches my attention. I look up, and see a small girl identical to the kid I took out in the Game this morning. Huh. That's ironic. I feel sorry for her. I'd hate to _actually_ go into the Games. I know I won't though, because I will never need tesserae. We may be the trade District, but most of the profit goes directly to the Capitol, which means enough other citizens will need tesserae to keep me out of the Games forever. Sure, I feel bad for all of them, but we can't all be lucky.

After breakfast, Father leaves to prepare for the Reaping, and I get ready. I comb my black hair carefully, and curl it into ringlets. I select my reaping outfit from my closet. It's a yellow dress with sequins along the bottom that jumps out from my dark skin. I smile into the mirror, and after adding some jewelry, I am ready to present myself in the Square.

I leave the house and lock the door behind me. I don't like going out in public. People stare too much. They're staring at me now, or rather, glaring, because of my father. Everyone hates me because of a background I can't help, and it makes me uncomfortable. The eyes follow me to the enclosure of sixteen-year-olds where I try to blend in with everyone else. Of course it's unsuccessful. All I can focus on are the faces of the kids who might be chosen today, and who might never see their families again.

All my friends are older than me, so I can't wait with them. I just have to sit here alone until the Reaping begins. It's not long before it starts though, and after after a boring history of Panem given by my father, our eccentric escort appears on the stage. She's been our escort for as long as I can remember. Her name is Emica. The only difference between this year and last year is that her yellow pigtails are now electric blue.

Emica grins down at all of us. "Good morning District Ten!" She looks expectant, as if we're supposed to answer back. Nobody does.

"Today marks the beginning of the 57th annual Hunger Games! Let's start it off with the choosing of our female tribute!" I look around me and see the faces of hundreds of children. At least one of them is going to die this year, and I'll have to watch. But the name of the girl who must compete is not any of the people around me. She's _me_.

I push my way through the stage. I'm not crying, because it's all a dream. I only had 5 entries. I stand alone on the stage, and once again, all eyes are on me. I hate this. I hate being the center of attention.

The call the name of the boy tribute, but I've blocked out everything. I need to distract myself from the piercing eyes of the District's citizens. I need to come away from my father, who's crying as the last member of his family is taken from him. I shake hands with the kid, and realize with a start that it's Norman Edom. The kid is in my year at school, and he's downright odd. I make a note to stay away from him in the arena. I plan to stay away from everyone of course, but him _especially_.

Once the reaping is through, I get to see visitors. My friends come in to see me first. They're pretty practical, so they behave like they're at my funeral. Which I guess they are. Then I get to see my father. He's crying. I've only seen my father cry once before, when my mother died. The only thing he says is right at the end, when the peacekeepers come to take him out.

"I love you, Dea," he sobs. And that's the last image I have of my home before I end up on the train. I'm going to be the center of the nation's attention for the next few weeks. The people, including those from my District, will be able to see every move I make, and hear everything I say. I have to spend the rest of my life on camera with no break, and no secrets. And I've heard most kids think _dying_ will be the hard part.

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**Norman Edom- 16, District 10**

Here in District Ten, we trade. Yeah, maybe it's important. But that's not what sets us apart. What sets us apart is that we can trade _outside of Panem_. Only those who can keep secrets are permitted to trade outside Panem. The most loyal and the least troublesome members of the District will get to negotiate with the outsiders. For some reason, nobody else seems to get that. But I've seen it. The people who leave for months at a time are the ones nobody will miss. They're people who don't gossip. The ones with no connections tying them down.

So, for sixteen years, I've built my life around escape. _I'm _going to get out of here. It's been hard, isolating myself. I love my family, but I can't be seen with them in public. I long for friends more than anything. Someone, _anyone_ to tell my plans to. But anything told to anyone will get back to the Capitol, and where would I be then? Counting crates like the rest of the citizens, and that's best-case scenario. The problem is, because I'm so separated, I'm an oddity, and I attract attention by trying not to.

The attention doesn't matter so much, but I can't have people close to me. So I did all that I could to make sure I repelled everyone. I had to learn what made them uncomfortable. When people spoke to me, I stared at them until they left. I was the kid burned ants with stolen glasses on the playground. In gym class, I was the kid who everyone was uncomfortable changing in front of. As a teenager, I have to be even more careful, because I see them scoping us out. Nobody will come near me now, and that's all the better. I spend breaks studying- only the smartest can leave the District. But not the creative ones. I must mold myself to their stereotype. I must be a loner, logical, but thinking 'inside the box' at all times. But it doesn't matter what these people think of me anyway. Once I get my first trading job, I can escape. I'm not easily noticed. I can _disappear_ into another world, another country, and Panem will never see me again. Which is just as well.

Only one thing stands in my way each year. The Reaping. My older brother used to take out tesserae for the five of us, but now that he's moved out, I've taken it the past two years. That's 5 entries mandatory, 5 tesserae last year, and 4 this one. Fourteen entries won't kill me, but I'm still worried. Sixteen years of hard work would be wasted on a life that never got to live. A life that wasn't even happy. I have to tell myself that it's worth it though. My children will never have to fear being slaughtered on live TV like I do. A few years of utter unhappiness is worth a lifetime of peace. I hope.

So the Reaping has come again. I don't watch the re-caps with my family. Instead, I sit outside, watching as people pass by the house. They avoid even my eyes, as if my very presence is something poisonous, contagious. But that's how all the international traders are, isn't it? Of course it is. I'm already dressed. I have on nice brown pants and a grey shirt that belonged to my brother. I can almost feel his constant warmth on the clothing. I'll miss him, when I leave. About ten minutes before the Reaping, my parents and little sister are ready to go to the square. A pang shoots through my body. Little Nadia is only four. She doesn't know me as she should. She doesn't know the sweet kind brother I could be, instead of the cold distant person I am. I want her to know the real me, but it's too risky. They're always watching.

We walk to the square, maintaining some semblance of being a family unit. I walk stiffly beside them, as they talk quietly to one another, shooting me the occasional wary glance. I nod curtly to my parents and sister before joining my classmates. I take a seat in the front corner of the enclosure of sixteens. I can almost feel people's eyes on me, but I'm used to it. I wait for the Reaping to begin. The mayor, escort and a couple of past victors are on stage already, but the camera crews can't start until the official time. So we wait. Finally, it begins. The history of Panem is recited. It's dull, from years of repetition, but it only renews my desire to run. I have to leave Panem before it's too late. Then the escort, Emica hits the stage. She's been our escort since I was born, but she still doesn't look a day over twenty. It's scary how the Capitol can do that.

As usual, the girl is called first. Hmm. The girl is Dea Clark, the mayor's daughter. She looks immaculate, with her perfect hair, perfect features, and new dress. That ought to be interesting. The poor man's lost his entire family now though, and I can't help but feel a stab of pity for him.

"Norman Edom!" No! _NO!_ I was supposed to live! I was supposed to escape from here! This isn't my fate. It can't be. I walk to the stage because I know I'm supposed to. After 16 years of conformity, my body can't fight back. I wonder if that will be a problem in the arena.

Not that it matters. My dream has been ripped from me either way. If I win, I may live, but I'll never get out of here. But if I live, I can live a _real_ life. Not the one I've forced myself to. I will win. And I will come back.

In the visiting room, there is no need for secrets. My escape is impossible now, so I let out all the emotion I've held in for years. I hug my parents, and we all cry, even me. That's all we do is cry. I promise them I'll be a better son if I come back. I hug Nadia for the first time in my entire life, and my brother for the first time since I was little. I have to come back. I _have _to. If I don't come back, Nadia will never know who I am.

I have to live before I can die. And since I've yet to live, I know I can win.

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**Review? -pouty eyes-**


	11. District 11 Reaping Linnea and Griffin

**AN: **Twenty-two tributes have been selected. Only two remain to be chosen. May the odds be ever in your favor...

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**Linnea Marlee- 14, District 11**

We're not technically supposed to be working on Reaping Day. But here in District Eleven, work stops for nothing but death, and then only for the deceased. Even during the most crucial moments of the Games, we'll have a shift out in the fields and orchards. That's why right now, three hours before the Reaping, I find myself sitting in the branches of one of the trees in the orchard, watching the workers down below. Technically, my job today is to watch for the signal flags that mean the end of the workday. Once I see those, the shuttles will carry all the kids to the square. The District is so big that all people younger than twelve and older than eighteen must watch the Reaping from home. And even some of the children eligible have to be diverted onto side streets or nearby fields, where they can be quickly summoned if chosen. We're lucky we even get shuttles to the Reaping, but that's only so we can work all day and still make it in time. Those of us, like me, who are unlucky enough to live far away from the square have to walk home. The worst part is for the tributes, whose families usually can't make it to the square in time to say goodbye. I'd hate to see a family member go off to the Games without telling them goodbye.

I've been in the tree for a while now, and I take a moment to shift positions. The signal flags still haven't come up yet. I hear a rustling in the trees around me, but there's no wind. Suddenly, there's a great whooping, and the flailing body of a small boy comes flying at me. Without thinking, I jump from my branch, barely able to catch myself before I fall from the tree entirely. Whoever the boy is, he's already gone. Luckily for him, the peacekeepers don't seem to care what's going on. Everyone's talking in the fields anyway, and as long as some work gets done, the day is classified as productive. I sigh and climb back to my original spot. I bruised myself quite a bit when I fell, but I don't think anything is broken.

As I pull myself back to my lookout position, I see a flash of orange from a tree further off. I look again, and see the unmistakable orange flag waving in the distance. I give a signal whistle to the workers below. Some of the other workers sing, but I'm not very good at singing, so I whistle instead. I climb down the tree, and join all the other child workers as we surge for the Reaping Shuttles. We arrive in the Square with just enough time for them to organize us all by age. The Twelves, Thirteens, Fourteens and late arrivals are directed to other streets. All us fourteens occupy an entire street, but from where I'm standing, I can just make out the stage far off in the Square. I don't need to see it though, because we have huge TV screens oppressing us from buildings on either side of the street.

Luckily, we're not on camera, so I spend the speeches chatting with my friends. I'm telling Marigold, Cami, and Scipio about the crazy boy from the fields today. Cami and Scipio both agree that he's lucky he wasn't shot. Marigold pushes her dirty glasses further up her freckled nose.

"He's obviously the most immature creature in the district." I chuckle.

Meanwhile, Cami and Scip have gotten to arguing about who's taller. I think It's Scipio, by just a hair, but Marigold says they're the same. Cami and Scipio are so alike they could be siblings, though they're not. Both have very tan skin, dark brown hair, and hazel eyes bursting with emotion. They're kind of middling in appearance. Not extremes like me and Marigold. She's light as a candle, and I'm dark as a storm cloud in the night.

"Linnea," whisper's Scipio, his face mirroring the expressions of horror on Marigold and Cami's.

"What?"

"I think the escort just said your name on the TV," whispers Cami.

I know it's me because everyone is looking my way. To get here, I had to elbow my way through the crowd. Now, they part for me willingly. I steadily take my place on the stage and stare out at the crowd of children. I should have expected this. After all, I have tesserae for myself, my Mom, Dad, and Uncle Ray and baby cousin Estelle. But the truth is, there are kids with a lot higher chances than me, so why was I chosen? I'm just a little kid who could play a tune on her ribs with the right mallet. But I'm not tiny. I'm tall, so I can't hide well. And I'm not fast. Maybe I'll discover some kind of hidden ability when I train. But really, the best I can hope for is to die quickly on the first day, when the Careers are too preoccupied with their spoils of war to play with their prey.

_Please, please, please let it be quick_.

"And our _lucky _male contestant is Griffin Scotts!"

The boy who takes the stage is grinning like he's just won the lottery. His perfect looking golden-brown hair comes down almost to his eyes. He's actually really cute. Then I hear his voice, and realize he's the same kid who nearly killed me in the tree today. Any previous attractiveness he possessed has vanished.

"Thanks! I'm happy to accept my place as the District 11 male tribute." He steps away from the front of the stage and grins cockily at me while we shake hands. The child is either an idiot or trying to disguise his true feelings about the games. But he _is_ my District Partner, so I guess I'll have to deal with him for a while. When all the ceremony is done, we're escorted to separate visiting rooms.

Marigold, Scipio, and Cami were the only people at the Square when I was picked. I know my family can't make it, but I guess that's ok, since I really don't want them to see me like this. I want them to remember me alive and happy, rather than condemned to death. Marigold is giving me a full history of statistics of the District 11 tributes that makes my head spin. Scipio and Cami sit on either side of me, holding me in a hug, watching and nodding as Marigold paces around the room.

"I'll miss you all," I say, cutting across Marigold's tirade. "Scipio, Cami, you guys are great, and I know you'll always be there for each other," I say quietly. "Marigold, you're the best friend in the world, but no amount of numbers can save me. I can find edible plants, and maybe I can outlast the others, but past that… I just don't know guys."

At this, Marigold breaks into tears, and the peacekeepers come in and escort my three best friends out. I'm completely alone. And maybe I can't win, but maybe I can. After all, life is nothing if not unpredictable.

* * *

**Griffin Scotts- 13, District 11**

Here in District 11, every day is a work day. Whether it's school or being out in the fields, we never get a break. 'Course, that doesn't stop us from trying to have fun. Like today. Me and Russ were down working in the fields, and the peacekeepers were nowhere t' be found. They enforce the rules, but as long as we meet our quota and don't cause trouble, they probably won't care about what we do. That's what led to Russ and Me climbing up one of the trees in the orchard and sharing some of the fruit that hasn't grown in fully. Then I dare Russ to chuck the apple core at one of the workers, and he does, but we disappear into the tree, laughing because the worker can't see us.

Next, Russ dares me to jump from one tree to another. I do, and I almost fall, but I manage to hang on to a branch in the second tree and pull myself up. I tell Russ he has to do it. He pulls it off a lot neater than me though. We've decide to make a Game of it. A fun Game, not like the Hunger Games on TV. I'm next, so I inch across the thick branch ti the edge and jump out into open space. As I fall, my hand reaches out and catches a limb, and I swing into a tree. It gets easier every time. Finally, Russ and I are swinging like monkeys through the trees.

"Race you to the other side of the orchard," I say.

A grin takes over Russ' face. "You're so on."

We start in different trees and go as fast as we can. I feel so free- just like I'm flying! I breeze past one of the lookouts, who I hope doesn't report me, and jump to the next tree. And the next. And the next. I'm crying out with joy as I swing, loving the rush of adrenaline. I wonder where my sister Arica is. She's eleven. She's a real pain, but I'd love to teach her how to do this. Kale, my brother, though, he would _never_ approve. The end of the orchard is in sight. I think I beat Russ! I land on the ground almost simultaneously with him, and we both start to laugh. Suddenly, we hear the signal whistle, and people start to migrate toward the shuttles that will take the eligible kids to the Reaping.

Russ and I race each other there too, and he just barely wins. We get on the shuttle just before the doors close, and talk for the entire ride there.

In the square, Russ and I are separated, since he's still just twelve. The twelve-year-olds are herded to their own street, the same as us and the fourteen-year-olds. I'm in the front of the street, and a bit tall for my age, so I can see the stage pretty well. The mayor makes some kind of speech, and I can see Kale with the seventeen-year-olds nodding and listening. He's going to destroy my reputation like that. I start thumb wrestling with the boy next to me, Chris. I'm winning. The escort, a lady with crazy orange hair is about to call the names of the kids who will go into the Hunger Games. The Games are totally boring to watch, but I bet they're really exciting for the kids who get to play in them.

"Can we have Linnea Marlee on staaaage please!" It takes her a while to get to the stage, because Linnea comes from the street where they've kept the Fourteens. She's really tall and thin, and very dark. She looks scared.

"And our lucky male contestant is Griffin Scotts!" Oh hey, that's me! I head up to the stage. I'm really good at Games. Bet I can win this one too, if I try. And I bet Russ has never done anything this exciting before. Plus, I'll get to see the Capitol. Nobody in District 11 has ever been to the Capitol, I bet. Except out old Victors of course.

"Thanks!" I say, "I'm happy to accept my place as the District 11 male tribute." After shaking hands with Linnea, we can have visits by family and friends. Unfortunately, Mum and Dad and Arica are at home, far from the Square. Kale comes to visit me though, and tries to give me all kids of practical advice. Please. It's just a Game. All I have to do is win.

"And your best tactical advantage is definitely climbing. Get yourself in a tree and stay there Griffin. Make sure to drink water once every three days, at least, more if it's hotter, and if you don't have food every five days..." Blah blah blah.

Russ has it right. "Geeze man! You get to go see the _Capitol_." I hear his voice shake a bit, but that's likely from excitement for me.

"Yeah! It's gonna be great!" we talk about how much fun I'm going to have until Russ has to go.

"Be careful, Griffin," he says. I just nod.

I can't wait to get to the Capitol. This is going to be the most exciting thing _ever_.

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**Would you care to honor me with a review?**


	12. District Twelve Reaping Ivy and Timothy

**AN: **Okay, it's _one_ day later than I promised. But that's pretty good for me. I don't know when I'll be able to update next, though. I will definitely start writing if I can, but my internet will be spotty throughout June.

In the meantime, I'm going to put a poll on my profile. Feel free to vote for who you'd most like to win!

**

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Ivy Chase- 17, District 12**

I wake up at dawn after a restless sleep. The house is eerily silent, so I know I must be the first person awake. The door to Mom and Dad's room is closed. Behind a second door, I can hear Cory and Liam snoring peacefully. I'm glad. Cory being twelve this year, he needs all the peace he can get.

In the pale light, I prepare to go for a run. It's the only thing that will clear my head on Reaping Day. I leave the house, closing the door with as little noise as I can manage. Then I'm free. I'm free as the wind that blows around me. I start with a slow jog. I carry that pace through the city, around the village known commonly as the Seam, and into a grassy meadow, all the way to the electric fence that separates our District from the danger of the woods. And while it feels oppressive, I'm glad we have it. I'd hate to be mauled by a wild animal.

As I take a short rest by the fence, my attention is drawn to a movement across the meadow. An animal? I move a bit closer, using what little cover the grass gives me. I see a young man from the Seam slip under a gap in the fence, without being electrocuted. Just like that! What if he's _killed_ out there? Doesn't he know how dangerous it is? Does he have children who will see him shot if he's caught returning? The man doesn't seem to worry about this. He doesn't seem to worry about anything. In fact, I see him laugh, and he begins to sing a carefree song. The tune floats over to me, and while I can't make out the words, I can hear the birds around me fall completely silent.

Feeling like I've invaded the man's privacy, I turn around and run back the way I came. I really don't want to be seen by the bird-man. I wish I could have heard him sing though. I'm running again, thinking of the bird-man. Maybe he's trying to be killed. But even though he was poor, he doesn't seem angry like the others. He seemed all laughter and happiness. I can't remember ever being that carefree. Maybe once I could follow him into the forest and see what makes him so happy. If it weren't so dangerous. And if today weren't the Reaping.

We're to treat the Reaping like a festival, so when I get home I have to wash up and dress up. I don't really like dressing up. I bet I wouldn't mind if it were for a nice occasion though. The Hunger Games are _not_ a nice occasion. In fact, I've never been to one of those here in District 12 before. I select last years Reaping outfit to wear. It's an appropriately black dress, with black sandals to match. I brush my hair and tuck it behind my ears. That's as nice-looking as I'll ever be I suppose. I sigh and head to the living room. I see that Cory, Liam, and Dad are ready to go, and Mom is soon. When I see her, I instantly wish I could be that beautiful, with her perfectly curled honey-blonde hair and soft features.

It's time to go now, so we head out, closing and locking the door behind us. We're not far from the square, so it only takes us a few minutes to get there. I part ways with my family and drift to the roped off area for seventeen-year-olds. There, I see that my crush Scott, is chatting with our friend Raven. The little flare of jealousy I feel is extinguished by the arrival of two more people. Raven's boyfriend, Terrence, and our friend Caroline, who might be the only redhead in the district join our little party. Though Raven and Caroline are already 18, they choose to wait with us. I'm afraid the peacekeepers will catch them, but they tell me I worry too much. Of our group, only Terrence isn't Seam, and he has the same blonde hair and blue eyes that are common among the more wealthy, including me. Mom's not too thrilled about all my friends being poorer than me. She thinks they're looking for handouts. But I know them better than that. People from the Seam don't take kindly to charity unless they're _really _desperate. I still worry about them being chosen, or not having enough to eat, but they seem to survive well enough.

Too soon the Reaping begins. They read the treaty of treason, and give some extensive speeches. I hope Cory is doing okay. I can't see him over in the twelves, because they're behind me. I refocus my attention when they introduce our past victors. There's a lady called Iris 'Rizz' Bush. They called her Frizz because of her hair, which sticks out wildly in all directions. Eventually, Frizz was shorted to Rizz. Her hair, now grey, still frizzes in every possible direction. It's said she's completely nuts, and usually mumbles to herself in a language she made up, and draws pictures of skeletons on everything. Then there's Haymitch Abernathy. He's still very young. He won the games seven years ago, in one of the bloodiest finales in my lifetime. They nearly didn't have a victor that year. He almost died with his opponent. He was never a happy person, but now, his eyes are haunted, barely acknowledging the crowd. I've seen him eyeing the medicinal liquor in my parent's store. I wonder how hard it must be for them to go through this every year.

Our escort presents herself, and I see that she's new this year. She says her name is Effie Trinket and isn't it such an _honor_ to be here. Then she skips bubbly to the ball on my right and reads a name. It's mine. I'm not surprised. In fact I feel no emotion. I feel as though I've already died. I'm trying onstage to control my shaking. I still don't feel afraid, but my body must be. The male tribute, Timothy, is only twelve, but seems more composed than I am. Before long, we're whisked off to the rooms where the unlucky tributes receive visitors.

I see Scott first. I'm hoping he'll kiss me and tell me he loves me. Maybe he'll say that we can be together if I survive. But instead, he just awkwardly hugs me, telling me to help Timothy, who is apparently his cousin, get home safe. I feel like bursting into tears. Luckily, Raven, Terrence and Caroline are next to visit. Caroline cracks a few half-hearted jokes. Raven gives be an inspired pep talk, and Terrence watches silently. Finally I give the girls a final hug goodbye, so my family can come in.

Mom and Dad encourage me to do my best. I'm worried I'll disappoint them if I screw up and die. Cory and Liam wish me luck, and little seven-year-old Liam gives me his favorite rock to take with me for good luck. And just like that, I'm off. There's just one problem. What if I never come back?

* * *

**Timothy Dayton- 12, District 12**

I couldn't sleep last night, but I think I have a good reason. My first Reaping is tomorrow. I only turned twelve two months ago, so I'm still one of the youngest of the youngest kids eligible. I'm scared, of course, but sometimes, I wouldn't mind going into the Games. I'm not sure I would mind dying. That's probably just because of my dirt poor family. I have four younger brothers, ages 11, 8, 5 and 3. My mom and dad work in the coal mines all day. Really though, Henric takes care of them. He's eleven, but he acts so much older, it's hard not to let him take charge. Really, I'm just there. The only reason people know I'm the older brother is because I'm a couple inches taller than Henric. Henric means well, I can tell, but he's annoyed that he has to take care of us. Especially me. That's why I'm going to try and find some kind of job tomorrow after the Reaping. If I can find a job, maybe Henric will finally see me as more than a liability.

At any rate, It's the Reaping I have to worry about now. The odds are not in my favor. I have to take out tesserae for the entire family. I really didn't mind at first. I felt important when I brought home that first supply of grain. I had finally done something to help the family. But now, with 7 extra entries my first year, I'm terrified. There are 18 year olds with the same amount of entries as me. The thought makes me shiver. To settle my mind, I pull a tattered old book from where I had stashed it under my pillow. It's called Treasure Island. I wish I could find an island full of treasure. My parents could come home and I'd never need tesserae again. We normally don't have breakfast, since we can't afford it, but since it's my first Reaping, my Mom and Dad saved for some honey. _Real_ honey, and spread it on flaky baker's bread. It's the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Henric, for once, isn't staring at me disapprovingly.

After breakfast, we longue around for a while, since our Reaping is last. Then we get ready. I really just have to get dressed. Mom keeps my hair cut short so it doesn't get dirt and bugs. For me, dressing nice is wearing something that's not dirty. So I grab some pants and a shirt that aren't covered in coal dust and throw them on. I hear Hunter, our dog barking outside. I go to see what's going on, to find that he has a live squirrel clamped in his jaws. This is my job. Henric's squeamish about killing anything, even if we can make a good trade for it. Me, I don't really care. I stab the squirrel straight through the eye, where there will be no damage to the meat. Hunter brings us all kinds of 'presents' like this. And thank goodness too. I think we'll keep this one, maybe have it for dinner. But now, it's time to go.

We leave the house, and for the first year, we don't chat merrily as we walk. I can tell Mom and Dad are worried about me, despite their smiles as they speak sweetly to Parker and Mel. When we finally reach the square, I leave my family and join the other nervous twelve year olds. Bits of conversation float over the crowd.

"What if they pick me?"

"My brother did it last year, and he's ok."

"My cousin died like this."

"Please, we're triplets. Nothing can separate us." This comes from Jordan, who has two brothers, Jason and Jenson. They hate that their names are so similar. Jordan also happens to be my best friend.

I walk over to the triplets. All of them have dark hair and light eyes. One might say they're identical, but Jordan's hair is a bit more curly, Jason has paler blue eyes, and Jenson is just a hair taller than the other two.

"Hey guys," I say. The triplets share identical smiles.

"Hey Timmy," says Jenson.

"You nervous?" asks Jason.

"Me? Naw, I'll be alright. Twelve-year-olds are hardly ever chosen," I say. And it's true. We haven't had a tribute under the age of fifteen picked in five years. A twelve year old hasn't been picked since the Quarter Quell.

A movement on stage draws the crowds attention. We all fall slowly silent while the mayor waits patiently. He explains the history of the Games in painstaking detail, and then reads the treaty of treason out loud. I think a treaty is supposed to be an agreement between two parties, but I can tell the mayor doesn't agree to this. He has a tired, worn look, as though he wishes he could leave and never come back. Even though he's rich, I can tell he's not satisfied. He knows he has to stay and do what's best for the district, but sometimes, he wishes he could end it all.

I can see Haymitch Abernathy and Rizz Bush up on the stage. Rizz is whispering to herself and twirling a strand of grey hair around her fingers. Haymitch looks even more hollow than the mayor. I think he's trying to but on a strong front, but I can tell that every tribute he loses causes him more pain. I wonder how long it will be before he goes as beyond the bend as Rizz is.

The mayor is making a speech now, about how the Hunger Games are a reminder of past deeds done that must be punished. Then the event picks up as a lady with bubblegum pink hair gets out of her chair.

"Hello District Twelve!" she squeaks. "My name is Effie Trinket! It's such an honor to be your new District escort this year!" She pauses for applause, but none comes.

"Oh well. Ladies first!" she chirps, skipping over to the ball that holds the girls' names.

"Ivy Chase!" Ivy is up on stage with almost no hesitation. She looks scared, but I can't tell if she really is. She may just be in shock. She's obviously merchant class, and not expecting this. She looks fit though. Maybe our district will have a winner this year?

"And for the males, we have Timothy Dayton!" I don't mind being called to compete. Actually, I rather look forward to it. Nobody in District Twelve gets to die in luxury. I know I will go the first day, and after all the Capitol treatment, I probably won't even mind. Besides, Day One deaths are usually not painful.

I shake hands with Ivy Chase, and then we're politely escorted to visiting rooms. I'm impressed from the second I step into the elevator. If life is going to be like this for the next few weeks, there's nothing to complain about.

Surprisingly, I'm visited by the triplets before my family.

"Good luck man," says Jason.

"You've got this. I'll be rooting for you," promises Jordan.

"Luck, Tim." Jenson doesn't speak much.

My family is next.

"We love you so much Timmy," says Mom.

"Give those other tributes Hell," Dad smiles.

Henric and Parker don't really say anything. Mel asks when I'll be back, since all he knows is that I'm going on a vacation of sorts.

"I'll be back in a month or so, Mel. And then we can live in a grand house and have pie for breakfast, lunch and dinner."

Mel's eyes light up. "We've only had pie once."

"Yep, but after I get back from my vacation, we can have it every day." It's technically true, anyway. I just have to actually come back.

"Promise?" demands my brother.

"I promise," I say, and give him a hug. I've changed my mind. To hell with dying. I'm going to bring Mel back some pie.

* * *

**THE REAPINGS ARE OVER!**

Review please? :)


	13. Tribute List

**AN: **Oh look! I'm back! With a tribute list _and _a chapter. Any accidental inconsistencies will be fixed when I have more than a few minutes to write.

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**District One- Luxury Items**

Silk Lauters - 17 years old, silky black hair, dark brown eyes, average height

Argent Melanger - 15 years old, longish straight red hair, green eyes, 4'10

**District Two- Medicine**

Artemis Hammel - 18 years old, blond hair (straightened) , deep green eyes, tall

Apollo Hammel - 18 years old, short blond hair, deep green eyes, taller

**District Three- Technology**

Micra Platel - 15 years old, brown hair in a ponytail, bright blue eyes, 5'2, thin

Shale Manson - 15 years old, straight dark brown/black hair, olive green eyes, 5'7, muscular

**District Four- Fishing**

Harrell Lennox - 16 years old, straight auburn hair, hazel eyes, 5'7, stocky

Jace King - 18 years old, black hair in dreadlocks, black eyes, average height

**District Five- Livestock**

Rika Shard – 13 years old, dirty blond hair, brown eyes, thin, average height

Donnel Talbot – 14 years old, short curly brown hair, thin, short

**District Six- Science**

Zara Addison- 15 years old, short black hair, ice blue eyes, average build, tall

Sten Lockney- 17 years old, short brown hair, brown eyes, muscular build, 6'6

**District Seven- Lumber/Construction**

Willow Foster- 16 years old, frizzy brown hair, dark brown eyes, muscular, average height

Joe Calloway- 18 years old, curly blond hair, dark brown eyes, muscular, tall

**District Eight_- _Clothing**

Calie Bennett- 12 years old, long blond hair, green eyes, very thin, short

Ash Oken- 14 years old, messy, curly auburn hair, brown eyes, average height and build

**District Nine- Hunting**

Alana Lakin- 17 years old, brown hair dyed blond by stylists, blue eyes, average build, tall

Fabian Kordell- 15 years old, short dark brown hair, grey eyes, average build, average height

**District Ten- Trade**

Dea Clark- 16 years old, black hair in ringlets, dark brown eyes, a little plump, average height

Norman Edom- 16 years old, short brown hair, hazel eyes, muscular, average height

**District Eleven- Agriculture**

Linnea Marlee- 14 years old, Black hair in single braid, dark brown eyes, thin, average height

Griffin Scotts- 13 years old, Golden-brown hair, brown eyes, thin, average height

**District Twelve- Coal**

Ivy Chase- 17 years old, Blond hair, blue eyes, thin but muscular, above average height

Timothy Dayton- 12 years old, Black hair, blue eyes, thin, short


	14. The Beginning of the End

**AN: **I decided to do this in third person, since trying to write 24 POVs in one chapter was making my head implode. Training will begin next chapter, followed by interviews and finally the start of the Games! And I should be updating regularly now that I have a functioning computer and not just a cell phone that has internet access.

* * *

_The light in the sky over the City Circle dims, and music begins to play. The crowd falls silent; save for the occasional sounds of one person shushing another. The Opening Ceremony is about to begin._

The doors of the remake center opened onto the streets, accompanied by the suddenly deafening roar of the crowd. Packed in like sardines on the edges of the street, they rival any crowd ever seen at any other event, even the Reapings in larger Districts. Aziza Park, the Capitol's top reporter, tapped her microphone.

"Are we ready?" she asked. Her counterpart, Owen Harper gave a winning grin and a nod.

On cue, the doors of the remake center opened and a beautiful jewel studded chariot rolls out, pulled by a team of white horses.

"And here comes the chariot for District One!" chirped the female reporter. "Competing this year for District One are the lovely Silk Lauters and little Argent Melanger!"

The two teenagers were dressed similarly. Both wore long purple robes encrusted with jewels and trimmed with fur, like any royalty. Silk looked elegant, with a twisted sliver tiara on her head, beaming and waving at the crowd. Argent smiled and waved too, his smile having a slightly more cruel edge than the girl's. His crown however, was designed to make him appear taller, and failed miserably, having the opposite effect.

"Silk is one of the most popular tributes with the crowd this year, as you can see!" said Owen, motioning the camera to cut to the screaming fans.

"Isn't little Argent cute?" commented Aziza. "That red hair clashes wildly with that purple though!"

"I don't know, Azi, kid looks like a fighter."

The cameras cut to District Two, whose chariot was just coming into view, revealing two glaring tributes. They were dressed in Greek-style tunics, Artemis' silver with a golden moon, and Apollo's gold with a silver sun. Owen introduced them.

"And here we have the twins, Apollo and Artemis. Both are very strong competition this year."

"And just _look_ at those outfits!" sighed Aziza longingly. "That silver tunic of Artemis' is simply divine! I _must _find out who the stylist is! And of course, we can't forget Apollo. His matching gold tunic is wonderful too! And that circlet in his golden hair!" Aziza pretended to swoon.

District Three followed. The girl was dressed in a black dress that shimmered with blue and green webs of light. The boy was dressed only in pants that produced the same effect. The girl waved shyly at the crowd, but the boy just stared, his head directed at the large screens overhead.

"Don't they look radiant!" gasped Azi. "Micra there looks a little small, but who knows? She could surprise us!"

"I'd hate to get on the wrong side of that Shale boy though, he looks tough," said Owen seriously.

District Four followed, in one of the worst costumes ever seen in that District. Azi giggled at the sparkly, multi-colored jumpsuits.

"What are they dressed as, fish? Anyway, here's Harell and Jace. Looks like yet another forceful pair of tributes, and that Jace, what a looker!" She winked at the camera.

Owen took up the statistical commentary again. "They look like two tributes I wouldn't want to cross. I can't wait to see what these two can do in training." Jace glared and Harrell waved dreamily until the District Five tributes were visible.

"Looks like Paprika Shard and Donnel Talbot are enjoying themselves, even though their outfits are a bit different!"

Owen nodded. Rika certainly was, bouncing and waving despite being dressed as… a cowbell? Donnel on the other hand, looked absolutely mortified. What little could be seen of his face was completely red.

"While I admire their confidence, I-" Owen stopped short as Donnel pitched forward, draped over the front of the chariot. The parade was stopped temporarily while doctors made sure the boy was okay. Donnel had to be carried off, but Rika and Aziza giggled the entire time.

"Well, it seems our boy had a little bit of stage fright," commented Owen dryly. Quickly the cameras turned their attention to the tributes of District Six, hoping to cover Donnel's embarrassing fall.

But neither of the tributes, dressed in long lab coats were very interesting. The girl cast a confrontational glare over the crowd, and Sten, the boy, just stared.

"Zara Addison and Sten Lockney, ladies and gentlemen," said Owen.

The tributes of District Seven were dressed as trees. Again. Faces painted green and bodies painted brown, they matched their awful costumes perfectly.

"Meet Willow Foster and Joseph Calloway! That Joe is quite a heartthrob. I don't know why the covered him all up like that," pouted Aziza.

"Wasn't there a Foster in the Games back when we were kids, Azi?" asked Owen, studying the green face of the female tribute.

"Oh what does it matter, Owen?" she asked, trying to continue smiling.

"No reason…" he said, trailing off and turning his focus to the tributes of District Eight and their white chariot.

"Introducing Calie Bennett and Ash Oken of District Eight! They appear to be dressed as sheep, but don't they just look adorable?"

Both Calie and Ash were making attempts to wave at the crowd. But both were so young, that they really didn't seem to have a chance. But the crowd cheered anyway. The two young tributes offered weak smiles.

"Here comes Alana Lakin and Fabian Kordell of District Nine," introduced Owen.

The two tributes were dressed in skimpy loincloths made of animal skin. Alana was beaming and waving at the crowd, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder and fluttering her eyelashes at the crowd. Fabian just stood there, looking mortified, and trying not to call attention to himself.

"Those outfits… Certainly something special…" said Azi, struggling to find something positive to say about them.

District Ten only got worse. Dea and Norman were dressed as numbers, to represent the math and trade in their district. Dea was a 1, and Norman a 6, together, they made 16, the age they both were. Azi and Owen exchanged glances. Neither could find anything good to say about that.

"Well, Dea Clark and Norman Edom, our tough competition of District Ten!" said Owen, trying to ignore Azi's blank look.

The tributes of District Eleven were a bit better dressed than those of previous years. They were both wearing jewel-studded overalls and straw hats. But it was better than past outfits like stalks of wheat or apples.

"From District Eleven, we have Linnea Marlee and Griffin Scotts, looking FAB-U-LOUS!" squealed Aziza.

Owen commented, "They look young, but I bet they both have some fight in them." Griffin and Linnea were both grinning at the crowd and dancing to the pulsing music. They looked like they were having a grand time.

Finally, it was time for District Twelve. The last District's chariot, black with black horses, pulled in to thunderous applause. Inside were two tributes who were as different as could be, but were dressed identically in skimpy black outfits with headlamps. Little Timothy Dayton was shirtless, which was hardly flattering to the twelve-year-old. Nevertheless, he was waving cheerily while Ivy smiled and blew kisses.

"And just look at the _adorable_ Timothy Dayton and the beautiful Ivy Chase!"

"Timothy may not look like much, but Ivy could be among the top contenders."

The chariots circled around the city circle, and the cameras focused on each of the chariots, lingering on the tributes from Districts 2, 3, 8, and 10, the last more for comic effect than to show off.

"Well, that concludes our Opening Ceremony report!" exclaimed Aziza.

"But costumes aren't everything. I have my eye on the tributes from One, Two, Four, and Six myself. Though Edom from Ten looks like stiff competition. Aziza?"

"My favorites were the boys from Three and Seven. They were very nice looking!" She giggled. "But we'll have to wait until the real action begins to find out who our real competitors are."

"This is Owen Harper"

"And Aziza Park"

"Signing off!" they chimed together.

_The crowd slowly files out of the City Circle. The Opening Ceremony may be over, but the Games have barely started. And for twenty-three of the children here tonight, it is just the beginning of their end_.


End file.
